


Wizard and the Beast

by originella



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU - Good Gellert Grindelwald, AU - Remus lives, AU - Sirius Lives, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Curses, Draco Malfoy Bashing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Mpreg, Werewolves, magical objects, snarry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:00:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23407165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/originella/pseuds/originella
Summary: Lord Harry Potter, eighteen, newly graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, must save the life of his godfather and guardian, Sirius, Viscount Black, by taking his place at the gothic Murkwood Manor, and becoming the companion of the elusive earl, Lord Severus Snape, who resides there, who may or may not be afflicted by a Dark Magic curse. It is through mutual compassion and understanding that Harry becomes not a prisoner, but a valued friend, and, soon, Harry and Severus must come to terms with the notion that there is deep lust, and perhaps even love, between the two of them. But, Severus is of the opinion that, if you love someone, you must set them free, and Harry isn't quite sure that he wishes to go any longer.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Cho Chang/Cedric Diggory, Dean Thomas/Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Gregory Goyle/Daphne Greengrass, Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Millicent Bulstrode/Vincent Crabbe, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood, Past Harry Potter/Cedric Diggory, Petunia Evans Dursley/Vernon Dursley, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley - Relationship
Comments: 17
Kudos: 66





	1. Once Upon a Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilyseyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyseyes/gifts).



> The main narrative begins in 1760. Sandwiches were not invented until 1762, although I believe that, perhaps, the Wizarding World could have been ahead of us on this one.

The news had hit _The Profit_ like wildfire ever since Harry had graduated from Hogwarts the previous June, that Luna Lovegood—one of the best friends of his former fiancée, Ginny Weasley—had been kidnapped by Tom Riddle. It had been a bitter blow for her widowed father, Xenophilius Lovegood, a recluse and editor and chief for the competing wizarding paper, _The Quibbler_ , who barely left the house, now that Luna was gone. Harry felt badly for the man, but he had his own things to worry about, he knew that.

After reaching the age of five, Harry’s magical core had developed to the point that strange happenings went on at the primary school he had to share with his cousin, Dudley. He managed to Apparate himself up onto the roof, and so he was promptly sent to the Little Witch and Wizard Academy, where he thrived. The other amazing thing that had happened was that the various professors and instructors had figured out that Mr. Vernon and Mrs. Petunia Dursley, his uncle-by-marriage and his mother’s elder sister respectively, had been brutally abusing him, through regular beatings and starvation. Because of this, Harry was promptly put into the care of his godfather, Viscount Sirius Black, and taken in to the ancestral Black family home of Grimmauld Place in Islington, London.

Harry had had a splendid childhood after Sirius had gained custody of him, moving on from the little primary school and into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a little more than a month after his eleventh birthday, in September of 1753. While there, underneath the caring and considerate leadership of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Harry had sorted Gryffindor, and had made friends with many of his housemates, but his closest ones were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Ron was a Pureblood from a large family, but his Blood Status, unlike many other Purebloods, meant no extreme wealth or a title, which suited Harry just fine, as he was welcomed into the fold almost instantly by the loving Molly Weasley. As for Hermione, she was a Muggleborn, yet the brightest in their year, and had been the only child of a dentist father and a nurse mother, who pampered their little girl as much as they could without spoiling her outright, but Hermione had always hungered for books over trivial material possessions.

It was on the occasion of his fourth-year that a grand celebration was held, a Yule Ball, and Harry was surprised when popular and attractive seventh-year Hufflepuff, Cedric Diggory, singled him out and asked him to come along with him. Harry instantly agreed, having had an attraction for the fellow wizard since the summer before, when he had attended the finale of the Quidditch World Cup with Ron’s family. Cedric had treated Harry excellently, and the pair shared their first kiss at the end of the evening, with Cedric asking permission to court Harry. Harry told him that he would need his godfather’s permission, which arrived within the week, and their formal courtship began.

Everyone around school knew that Harry was being courted, and Harry loved that Cedric would hinder the attention from him. As the weeks and months went on, however, he noticed that Cedric had been consistently pulling away from him as winter bled into spring, and Harry was determined to figure out why. However, when he came upon Cedric embracing and passionately kissing pretty Ravenclaw student Cho Chang, Harry was devastated. Cedric then informed him that Cho would be seen as a more suitable partner, and that his parents had rejected his suit to court Harry, as Harry was male, and merely a Half-Blood. With Cho being a female and a Pureblood, she was deemed suitable, and their engagement was announced rather quickly, with Harry focusing on his studies more than ever to drown out the sorrows from his thoughts.

The summer during his sixteenth birthday, he thought he was seeing Ginny, Ron’s younger sister, in a different light. The girl was pretty enough, and had always seem to harbor romantic inclinations towards Harry, so it was quite easy to fall into step with her, and play the part of an enamored young man. However, his shared kisses with her, once their courtship was approved and their engagement announced, rang hollow, and Harry began to fear that there was something the matter with him. Determined to put it out of his mind, he instead prolonged the engagement, telling Ginny he would marry her once she left school, which gave him another year in addition to the ones he had to complete. While Ginny was smart, she seemed to be blinded by her affection for Harry and immediately agreed, although she did look at sample books and patterns with Hermione and Luna on a regular basis, although she claimed that they were for Hermione’s engagement to Ron, and Luna’s to their friend Neville Longbottom.

Harry passed his final year at Hogwarts, barely keeping his head above water, and knowing that he would never be able to make Ginny happy. He broken down in front of Hermione the evening before, telling her that he only fancied wizards and, although upset with him that he had seemingly strung Ginny along for well over a year, she immediately told him to be upfront with her and break off the engagement. Harry had done so, at the graduation ceremony, but, in retrospect, Harry considered that, perhaps, it would have done better to have done so in a more private setting.

“Harry!” Ginny had cried, launching herself into his arms as soon as he stepped out into the crowds of people gathered.

“Gin, please,” he said, but his words were cut off as she grabbed ahold of his face and pulled it closer, kissing him firmly upon the mouth. “Ginny, no!” he cried out, retching away from her, his green eyes flashing.

Ginny looked shocked by his words, as they had been kissing and steadily for over twelve months at this time, and he had seemed to enjoy every moment of it. “Harry, is it because of the people?” she asked, her tone quiet. “The engagement is public, and although we’ve not yet set a wedding date, people are bound to know the status of our relationship...”

“Ginny, we cannot have a relationship apart from that of a brother and sister,” Harry replied, his voice trembling, and he hated it.

Ginny stumbled backwards. “Harry, what...? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that my relationship with Cedric wasn’t a fluke,” Harry said, dragging a hand through his raven hair.

Ginny shook her head. “But... But Cedric threw you over, Harry!” she cried out, tears pricking at her eyes; her cheeks were flushed, and she looked terribly attractive, and Harry was devastated that he could never return the affection and love she had so willingly given him. “He’s been married to Cho for well over a year now, and they’ve a son between them—”

“I realize that Cedric and Cho are married, Ginny, and they’ve got their son, Amos, between the two of them,” Harry said, forcing his voice into that of a more steady tone; he had read the birth announcement in _The Profit_ six months ago, and Cedric had proudly named his firstborn after his father. “However, I was attracted to Cedric. I’m unsure now if I truly loved him, but I was indeed attracted to him...”

Ginny gritted her teeth; not from anger, but in an effort to keep herself from sobbing too loudly, not wanting to draw attention to their situation. “So, you’re not attracted to me?” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Don’t you think I’m beautiful?”

“Ginny, you’re very beautiful,” Harry said quickly; that was true, it was. “Any fool would think you beautiful, Gin. But, I, however, cannot think you beautiful as a husband may do a wife, for I can never take a wife, for it would be a false union if I ever did so.”

Ginny whispered, “But you love me. You’ve told me you loved me—”

“And I do, Ginny, as a man would love his own sister,” Harry told her. “I cannot love you as a husband would love his wife. If I were to take a spouse, or lover, it would have to be a man, for I am a homosexual, Ginny.”

Ginny stepped backwards then, shaking her head. “Harry...”

“Please, please don’t be angry with me, Ginny,” Harry begged.

Ginny held up her hand, thus preventing Harry from coming any closer. “Please... Don’t follow me, Harry,” she said, and she turned around then, dashing across the grounds in the opposite direction, crying her heart out, and Harry was not surprised to see Dean Thomas, a seventh-year Gryffindor Half-Blood who had also graduated that day, running after her.

Turning, Harry nearly stumbled backwards himself, as he saw Ron stepping closer, brandishing his wand aloft. “Ron...”

“What have you done to my sister?!” Ron roared.

“Ron...”

“I ought to hex you for hurting her—!”

“Ron, stop!” Hermione shouted, suddenly coming up behind her fiancé and grabbing at his arm, causing the hex itself to burn at a patch of grass. “Don’t blame Harry! It’s not his fault!”

“So, you’re presuming that my sister is to blame, Hermione?” Ron demanded.

Hermione shook her head at him, and yanked the wand out of his grip. “No, Ron, of course I’m not, for the blame lies with no one—”

“I had to do it, Ron,” Harry said, his voice filled with sadness as he cut across Hermione. “I had to break things off with Ginny.”

“She’s so cut up, Harry! How could you do that, after she’s loved you since we were children, and had to stand by while you wasted your time on that great pillock Diggory—”

“Ron, please,” Hermione begged.

“It wasn’t a waste of time, for it was a discovery of who I truly was,” Harry said, his voice stronger than it had ever been before, and Ron’s eyes snapped from Hermione’s to his. “I am a homosexual, Ron, and I could never be attracted to a woman, of any caliber, and although Ginny is the highest caliber of them all, I could never love her, or keep her truly happy, for I would be unhappy, and unhappiness does not a marriage make.”

Ron snagged his wand back from Hermione, but shoved it into his pocket instead of aiming it at Harry again. “I suppose that’s true,” he said bitterly.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stayed at The Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley that night, nursing tankards of Butterbeer, with Harry apologizing profusely, as well as penning a letter to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, telling them that he renounced his engagement to Ginny. He stated that Ginny would be permitted to keep the ring and all of the gifts he had given her if she wished, as he truly had no use for them, and that he was ending the engagement due to his homosexuality, and nothing that she had done. After signing his name, he sent the letter off with his snowy owl, Hedwig, who gave a small screech of disappointment before she flew off through one of the windows of the inn and into Wizarding London. Harry begged Ron’s forgiveness, and Ron agreed, realizing that having his best mate and his only sister miserable for their entire lives simply wouldn’t do.

“I’ll write you all summer,” Harry promised.

“Decided what you’re doing yet, Harry?” Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head, sipping at his Butterbeer. “No, not yet. Sirius has ideas for me coming out the woodwork, with the highest being a nobleman of leisure,” he joked.

“The Earl of Murkwood doesn’t have any other placements open,” Ron said softly, mentioning his position in a nobleman’s house, where he would be assuming the position of the new head chamberlain, while Hermione was to be a maid. “I mean, I know that ‘Mione and I were lucky to get the spots we did. Mum’s been in his service for years, so I suppose that helped...”

“And Neville’s going to be there, too,” Hermione said brightly, mentioning Neville’s position as valet, although indirectly, as she leaned backwards in the booth they shared, and let out an indulgent purr as Ron put an arm around her waist. “I know he’ll miss Luna, since she’ll begin her training to take over _The Quibbler_ from her father, but they’ll figure out a way to stay in touch, due to the engagement and all.”

“Least we won’t have to deal with Malfoy, Crabbe, or Goyle for a while,” Harry muttered, as he stared into the amber depths of his tankard. “Joining the ranks of the Wizarding Army is, I’m sure, admirable in some circles, but I think he’s going to attempt at getting injured, then make it out worse that it is, all to come home quickly and honorably.”

Hermione nodded. “And Crabbe and Goyle will jump onto the bandwagon, no doubt,” said the seventeen-year-old witch, pursing her lips.

“Perhaps they’ll get their heads blown off, and we’ll all be rid of them,” Ron said happily, and took an almighty swig of his drink, nearly choking as Hermione smacked him. “Oi!”

Hermione hummed innocently around her Butterbeer. “Mayhap something exciting will happen whilst we’re in service to this elusive earl,” she murmured.

Harry lowered _The Profit_ as he sat in the parlor at Grimmauld Place; Kreacher had already brought him his breakfast, and Sirius was off somewhere tinkering, as usual. Ron and Hermione had kept up with their correspondence, thankfully, and it had been nearly a full six months since their graduation from Hogwarts. He was due to go for tea with Headmaster Dumbledore and his husband, Gellert Grindelwald, who was the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts as well as Head of Gryffindor House, in less than a week, and would be doing some shopping that day in Diagon Alley. Sirius, meanwhile, was to go to the market in Colchester to sell some of his wares, as he did every late-autumn, not because the Black family needed its coffers filled, but because he was a creative gentleman, and liked selling them, although his mother, the late Viscountess Walburga, had attempted more than once to put a stop to his creative tinkering during her lifetime, but it had done no good.

Harry rang the bell, thus summoning Kreacher, and the aged house-elf cleared away his dishes from breakfast as promptly as he could, the smell of eggs, rashers, and toast still filling the air as Harry casted a Cleaning Spell upon his hands and wandered towards the basement, where Sirius’s workshop was kept. He was permitted in there as often as he liked, for Sirius had quickly developed the skill of multitasking from the time he was a young lad, and quite liked Harry’s company while he worked. Stepping down the stairs and into the great room, he saw Sirius waving his wand at one of the many objects he would be taking with him to sell at market, and Harry smiled.

“Please tell me you had Kreacher bring you breakfast,” Harry said by way of greeting, knowing that his guardian had the capability of growing more than a little distracted.

Sirius huffed, raising his blue eyes towards his godson, and smiled warmly at him. “I eat plenty, as you well know, Harry, although I thank you for your concern,” he replied. “Come. I want you to see what I’ve made. It’s the last piece to be loaded into the cart with Buckbeak before I head off to the market later this afternoon.”

Harry smirked and stepped forward, pushing himself off from the wall he’d leaned against and moved towards the work table, upon which was scattered many objects and tools that Sirius was constantly working with to make his little inventions perfect. “What is it?” he asked, peering closer at it.

Sirius smiled at the curiosity of his godson and waved his wand, the little circular object quickly opening at the command with a soft click, and presented itself to him. “That, my dear Harry, is a newly invented compass,” he explained.

“New? How is it new?” Harry asked as he inspected it for anything out of the ordinary, knowing very well that Muggle compasses had been around for over a millennia.

“It is a specialty object, Harry, wherein its owner must prick their finger upon the dial, and it will, hopefully, lead them to the one they seek most, due to the drop of blood the user sacrifices, in order for it to work properly,” Sirius explained.

Harry blinked, looking up at his guardian in a moment of confusion. “A soulmate, then? Or a family member?”

“Either,” Sirius said, “if you feel a deep, abiding love towards that person.”

Harry laughed aloud then, shaking his head. “If this is a roundabout way for you to scold me about how I ended things with Ginny, you needn’t bother. _The Profit_ announced her engagement to Dean just last week.”

Sirius smiled and squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “You know very well that I only scolded you on the abrupt and public manner on which you ended things, Harry, for I know very well that I raised you to care about a maiden’s feelings, or anyone’s really.”

Harry sighed. “Yes, I suppose so...”

“And,” Sirius said, ordering the compass to close itself with a mere wave of his wand, before he banished it into a cushioned box for the trip, “were I to scold you about your true and intimate reasons behind ending your engagement to Miss Weasley, it would be most hypocritical, do you not think so?” he asked, his blue eyes full of kindness and understanding.

Harry smiled at that and helped Sirius in packing up and loading the rest of his things into the cart, which was to be pulled by Buckbeak, their hippogriff. Harry tried not to laugh as Kreacher grumbled his way out into the November early afternoon, and presented Sirius with some food for the road, so as he would not have to stop for lunch or his tea. Harry stepped forward after Sirius had gotten up onto the driver’s seat of the trunk, not fully prepared to say goodbye to him just yet.

“What can I bring you from the market?” Sirius asked.

Harry smiled up at the man; he had asked the same question each year, from the time Harry was five, and he always asked for the same thing. “A bunch of lilies, so that I may put them upon my mother’s grave,” he replied.

Sirius smirked. “Again? You always ask for lilies,” he said with a laugh.

Harry nodded solemnly, for he still chose to mourn the woman who had given him life, and yet, also a woman he would never know. “I know I always ask for lilies,” he replied, “and I’ll not change my mind.”

Sirius gave a nod towards his godson, reaching down and squeezing his hand for a moment. “If it is lilies you want, Harry, I shall bring you as many of them as I can get,” he said, before spurring Buckbeak and going down the cobblestoned street, and disappearing around the corner.

Harry ventured back into the house, opting to take a light lunch before having a bath and changing before his shopping trip. Kreacher knew of his schedule that afternoon, and would provide a soup and sandwich lunch if he so wished it, as he had always done. Although he was a rather gruff fellow with a crotchety disposition, Kreacher truly cared for Harry, for he had known from the time that Sirius had brought him to live at Grimmauld that he would be the master, once Sirius passed from one world and into the next.

After finishing his absolutions and changing himself into a casual afternoon suit, Harry returned downstairs and into the parlor, the afternoon edition of _The Profit_ having already been delivered by Hedwig, and a platter of sandwiches and a tureen of soup waiting for him. The soup was known as “White Soup” to Muggles, and was a delightfully delicious dish which complimented his ham sandwiches quite nicely. He would tear off bits of ham every now and again and hand them off to Hedwig, perched nearby, who would twitter softly and accept them in a gentle and ladylike manner with her elegant beak.

Once he had finished eating and casted yet another Cleaning Charm upon his hands, he bid Kreacher farewell, letting him know he would return to Grimmauld in time for dinner. He Floo’d quickly into The Leaky Cauldron and greeted Tom, the proprietor, politely, before stepping out into the late-autumn sunshine and down the cobblestone street. He passed by Ollivander’s and several other shops before he made a beeline for Flourish and Blotts, letting himself in almost at once and walking over to the romantic novel section. At first, he had been quite embarrassed to admit that a gentleman of his standing enjoyed such things, but Hermione liked the section as well, and so he made himself feel better about it.

“Good afternoon, Remus,” he called to the proprietor, who looked up from a book he was reading behind the counter, and smiled at him.

“Harry, wonderful to see you,” the soft-spoken man replied, marking his book before setting it upon his desk and getting to his feet. “How may I help you today?”

“The new Jossie Buckling novel is out today,” Harry replied, his eyes flashing with excitement as he meandered over to the section.

“Ah, yes, the novels sweeping the wizarding nation,” Remus said fondly, shaking his head with a smile as Harry darted in between the shelves, his eyes running along the titles and authors to find the one he wanted. “I thought Sirius wanted you reading Shakespeare.”

“Fah!” Harry said, standing up straight and fixing Remus with a look. “Not you too!”

Remus held up his hands. “I would never presume to make you read anything, Harry. Your father wouldn’t hear the end of me telling him so, back at Hogwarts, when we attended with Sirius over twenty years ago,” he said.

Harry sighed, leaning temporarily against the shelf he stood in front of. “You know very well that the plot of _Romeo and Juliet_ is entirely misleading. _Two lovers in fair Verona who find love despite difficult circumstances_.” He shook his head. “They take their own lives, Remus, instead of finding an ally, or a means of escape. It’s downright tragic, and I’m quite tired of such a tragic end,” he said fiercely.

Remus nodded, conceding the point as Harry dove back into the shelves, finding what he was looking for and holding it aloft. “Fair point, Harry,” he mused, taking the book once Harry had offered it to him, and brought it to the counter directly.

“I wish that Muggles could understand about homosexual relationship,” he said wistfully, as he admired the cover of the novel, featuring that of a clean-cut, handsome older nobleman, who was holding tightly and possessively to an all-too-willing younger man, clad similarly, although both their rippling chests showed for all to see.

“Perhaps one day, if not today,” Remus said, telling Harry the proper amount, and Harry counted out the Galleons and handed them over. “Has Sirius left for Colchester yet?” he asked.

Harry nodded, taking the book back once the money had been exchanged. “Yes,” he replied. “I asked him for the lilies as usual.”

“You are a tribute to your mother, Harry. Lily would be so proud if she saw you now,” Remus told him gently.

Harry’s brows knit together then. “Despite her Muggle parents and sister, you truly believe she would not have minded my homosexuality, Remus?”

“I know she wouldn’t have, for she knew about Sirius’s and my own predilections, and seemed to bear no ill-will towards us because of them,” the man stated.

Harry smiled. “The sooner you reveal your feelings to Sirius, the better,” he said.

Remus rolled his eyes. “Perhaps one day,” he said.

Harry sighed. “Well, I’d better get back to Grimmauld. You know how Kreacher worries,” he said with a small laugh.

Remus nodded. “I do. See you soon, Harry.”

Harry nodded back at him. “Goodbye,” he replied, before slipping out of the bookshop and making his way down the cobblestone path.

Meandering down the street, Harry shrunk his book and put it into his inner breast pocket, and poked his head into various windows. He bought a loaf of bread and some hard cheese, knowing that Kreacher quite liked having such things around Grimmauld, and continued on his way. It was when he was assaulted by the scent of red carnations that he fully realized they had been all but shoved into his face that he stumbled backwards, and, upon looking up, saw that Draco Malfoy himself—with his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle standing in the background—was looking down at him rather eagerly.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, drawing himself up to his full height, although it did no good, for he was a good three or four inches shorter than the Malfoy heir. “What brings you to Diagon? I had heard that the Wizarding Army’s training was quite picky about when its new recruits were permitted breaks during the initial phase.”

“Purebloods like Crabbe, Goyle, and me get special treatment,” he boasted, preening visibly for Harry to see, which caused the window of Madam Malkin’s to sag beneath the weight of Miss Lavender Brown, plus Miss Parvati and Miss Padma Patil, who were ogling Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle respectively.

“I see,” Harry said, and took another step backward, truly hating it whenever Malfoy attempted more than once to invade his personal space. “I don’t understand why you would tell me such a thing, Malfoy.”

“Does it not impress you?” he asked, his silvery eyes gleaming with excitement, his mouth practically salivating as his gaze all but raked over him. “The fact that I, Lord Draco Lucius Malfoy, can get privileges that many people must be senior Aurors or the minister himself to get, all because of who my father is?”

“No,” Harry replied pointedly, “and you’ve already answered why such a thing would not impress me, Malfoy.”

Malfoy blinked, confused at Harry’s abrupt answer. “I’m sorry, please excuse me. To what are you referring?” he asked.

Harry sighed, knowing that he had to be patient, for the Malfoy heir was too full of himself to really know, one way or the other. “I’m saying that, sir, it is far too simple not to be impressed with you, for you’ve clearly stated that you’ve only gained these privileges because of who your father is, meaning that you did not gain them because of your own merits.”

Malfoy huffed for a moment, growing impatient. “And what brings you to the alley today, Harry?” he asked, and Harry quickly grew annoyed, for he had not given him leave to refer to him by his first name. “Surely, it was for something more than procuring a loaf of bread and some hard cheese, for such tasks must surely fall to women, or your servants.”

Harry swallowed, continuing to grow annoyed. “As you well know, Sirius and I only employ one servant in the form of Kreacher, who is old and quite weary most of the time. I help him out where I can, because I’ve not yet decided what to do with my life, now that we’ve graduated from Hogwarts.”

“Perhaps marriage would be a good way to go,” Malfoy said quickly, seeing an angle and grabbing it, the Slytherin that he was.

Harry blinked. “Marriage? Oh, I hardly think so,” he said, and moved to step around Malfoy; he just had to get away from that disgusting carnation smell.

“Why? Perhaps the right man is out there waiting for you,” Malfoy continued, his ostentatious boots clicking hard onto the cobblestones.

Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh, I hardly think my marriage—or lack thereof—has anything to do with you, Malfoy.”

“Perhaps I want to make it so it does,” Malfoy said, grabbing ahold of Harry’s shoulder and turning him around, and shoving the carnations in his face again. “Perhaps you and I could speak of this further, over a meal?”

Harry promptly shook his head. “Such a thing would be inappropriate, I fear.”

Malfoy blinked. “Why?”

“Well, for one thing, Sirius, my guardian, is away in Colchester for the next week, and, given that your intentions seem to be of the romantic kind, such a dinner would be an intimate one, and I can hardly have such an intimate meal without a chaperone,” Harry said candidly. “And, Malfoy, further, were I to accept your invitation to share in a meal with you, it would denote some form of interest, and I would not wish to give you false hope.”

“Me?” Malfoy asked. “False hope?”

“Yes,” Harry said plainly. “You tormented me to no end during our Hogwarts years, belittled my friends and my association with him, made me feel guilty for living while my parents did not, and, not to mention, the fact that it is publicly known that you have been betrothed to Miss Pansy Parkinson since infancy, yet continue to bed any willing man or woman you come across. None of those things do I find attractive, nor seek out in a potential mate, so the notion that I would ever willingly share a meal with you with the intention of it leading to a courtship is, in my opinion, downright laughable.”

Malfoy appeared to be chewing on lemons. “I find I do not understand.”

“Oh, I should think not,” Harry responded, “for the fact remains that I have just rejected your suit to court me. I don’t think I even want to be in the same room with you, if I can avoid it, although I am quite positive I will have to endure numerous functions with you in the near future, which I will attempt to bear, for I am a gentleman, as you are. And, as a gentleman, I will bid you ‘good day’, and you will respect that, as a fellow gentleman, and take my opinion to heart, for I will never be anything more to you than an acquaintance because, whether I like it or not, we attended school together for seven years, and those are not easily forgotten,” he said, before nodding his head to the Malfoy heir and turning about, vanishing into The Leaky Cauldron, and Floo’d back to Grimmauld Place.

~*~

Tea with the headmaster and his husband, Professor Grindelwald, was the next engagement that Harry had upon his books. He’d not heard from Sirius for several days, which was odd, as the man always sent a letter from the Colchester market. Thinking nothing of it, for the man had to have made friends along the way—or some within the market town, as he had been going there since his mother’s death—Harry decided to put it out of his mind. He dressed in a bottle green suit which matched his eyes, which he had received as a birthday present the summer before, and bid Kreacher farewell, before he went to the Floo.

The headmaster had permitted him the use of his own Floo, so he would not have to Apparate, and Harry was extremely grateful for the consideration. Apparition made him ill, and Portkeys were worse, so suffice it to say, the Floo Network was the lesser of three evils. However, Harry’s preferred method of transport within the Wizarding World would always be by broom, and he was never too far away from his Firebolt, which just so happened to be a gift from Sirius just before his fourth-year at Hogwarts.

“Ah, Harry, dear boy,” Headmaster Dumbledore said, gently easing Harry to his feet as Professor Grindelwald good-naturedly put a Cleaning Charm upon him, not wanting soot to douse the office they stood in. “Much too long, my dear boy. You’ve grown taller.”

Harry laughed at that and shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose my difference in height had to occur at some point, sir,” he replied. “How are the two of you?” he asked. “Have you managed to procure a new Transfiguration professor up to snuff yet?”

“If only,” Professor Grindelwald replied, waving his wand, thus making the teapot pour some tea for each of them, as they sat upon the couches in the headmaster’s private office section. “This year is a complete twit of a woman called Dolores Umbridge...”

“Now, Gellert,” the headmaster scolded gently.

The Defense professor huffed. “Well, I am sorry, Albus, but I truly believe that she is working against us with Minister Fudge, and thus will poison the young minds of the students we’re supposed to teach properly,” the man said, shaking his head as he stowed his wand into the sleeve of his robes, and picked up a cup of tea. “The fool of a man still doesn’t believe that the kidnapping upon the Lovegood girl was because of Riddle.”

“You believe it was Tom Riddle who kidnapped Luna, professor?” Harry queried, sipping at his tea, for every witch and wizard within the Wizarding World knew full well that Tom Riddle, who went by the self-imposed title of Lord Voldemort to his followers, called Death Eaters, was a complete madman who had attended Hogwarts back when Headmaster Dumbledore was still the Professor of Transfiguration, and the headmaster position was held by Armando Dippet.

Professor Grindelwald nodded; the man boasted two different colored eyes—one silver, and one brown—and used the silver one to peer into the minds of Dark wizards, and his skills rivaled that of the Professor of Divination, Sybill Trelawney. “I believe that Tom Riddle was a very gifted individual, one who was capable of doing such wonderful things for our great Wizarding World, but, he was corrupted by power and, once he had it, used to it enslave the minds of perfectly competent witches and wizards. In the most extreme cases, it drew them into a blind obsession, most notably with Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“The one who tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom, Neville’s parents, into madness,” Harry breathed, shaking his head, a bitter feeling entering his psyche at the notion that the once free-thinking Aurors were now locked away in a warded division of St. Mungo’s Wizarding Hospital for their own protection, although Harry knew full well that they would have been placed within the confines of a lunatic asylum and treated far worse, had they been Muggles.

“Quite right, my boy,” Headmaster Dumbledore acknowledged with a brief nod. “It is most unfortunate that such people were blinded by the ways of Riddle, and permitted their minds to be shrouded by the hatred that he preached.”

Harry slowly lowered his cup of tea back onto the table, and made no move to take up a biscuit, his stomach turning sour. “I just hope that Luna isn’t treated too horribly,” he said quietly, not wanting any of his friends to be treated ill by anyone.

“It will likely be in her favor that she was born a Pureblood,” Professor Grindelwald observed as he took a final swig of his strong tea, which he always took black. “Although she’s quite good at keeping quiet when it is necessary, I’m quite sure that her mind will be screaming at her, in an effort to figure out a way to escape from his clutches.”

“No guarantee that Riddle will not barter with Xenophilius for her release,” the headmaster put in softly. “I think he will demand that he hand over _The Quibbler_ , or worse...”

“Worse?” Harry asked, having to struggle to reply to the man. “What could be worse than losing his daughter, and potentially having to lose his livelihood? Of course, it would be all to get her back, but they would need to eat eventually, not that I wouldn’t help them...”

“Harry, I’ve seen the inner workings of Riddle’s mind,” Professor Grindelwald told him gently, his voice grave. “I fear that Riddle will, if he fails in obtaining _The Quibbler_ , or, he grows bored with it, he will demand Luna’s hand in marriage.”

“But, he can’t do that!” Harry cried out then, launching to his feet. “Luna is engaged to Neville, and the betrothal contract was announced when they were children—”

“Such contracts can be dissolved, my boy, if one has the proper people on their side, which, as you well know, Riddle does,” Headmaster Dumbledore said softly, knowing that Lord Lucius Malfoy’s position, high up in the Wizengamot, would surely turn some heads, as he could easily whisper some poison into an unsuspecting person’s ear, this rendering them helpless, and get them to dissolve the betrothal, and engagement.

“Miss Lovegood is a smart girl, and one of the few young ladies in this school with the ability of blocking her mind to Unforgivable Curses,” Professor Grindelwald whispered, for the Dark Arts courses taught such things by third-year. “I believe she can hold off for a while, by shielding her mind towards his attempts at the Imperious Curse, but she’ll not be able to hold out for long. I am quite positive that Riddle will resort to beatings and starvation, like a child having a temper tantrum, if his will is not met upon this.”

Harry shook his head. “Merlin help her,” he whispered.

“Merlin help us all,” Headmaster Dumbledore replied.


	2. In a Dark Wood

Sirius Black had been going to the market in Colchester ever since his mother, Viscountess Walburga, had died, and he was free to pursue his passions of tinkering. Sirius had always been the black sheep of the family, something that amused his younger brother and only sibling, Regulus, to no end. It hadn’t been until he’d attended Hogwarts at the age of eleven, and had sorted Gryffindor, that things began to look up, as he met James Potter and Remus Lupin rather quickly, and the three had become fast friends. The sorting, however, had come as a devastating blow to his mother and father, as no Black had ever sorted Gryffindor, and they’d always been a family of Slytherins. Nevertheless, Sirius would survive them all, and seize control of the viscount title and the property at Grimmauld Place, utilizing Kreacher as the family house-elf, and the antiquated being took quite some time to warm up to him.

As Sirius watched all the buyers setting up shop in their individual booths around him, he smiled and spoke to them. There was a system at the Colchester market, where important Wizarding families could buy swatches of space to set up their magicked booths. Sirius was always placed between the same two families—the Prewett’s and the Fawley’s—who were terribly good people and always had something pleasant to say. The Prewett’s specialized in home-grown wizarding fruits and vegetables, and their Dirigible Plums were reportedly out of this world. The Fawley’s, by contrast, brewed their own magical medicines, and sold a new book with the latest recipes and experiments of their work each year.

Sirius adored speaking to both families; despite their shared Pureblood status, they never had a bad thing to say or a complaint about Half-Bloods, Muggleborns, Squibs, or Muggles. It was quite refreshing, for in Wizarding London, the politics had been forever tainted by Sirius’s own cousin-in-law Lucius Malfoy. Lucius was as slimy and slippery as they came, and would constantly whisper a bit of poison in former Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge’s ear. Sirius was one of many families who were thankful that, by the time re-election came about, Fudge was voted out, and replaced with the more forthright Amelia Bones.

“How are Addison and Melody doing, Grim?” Sirius asked, smiling at the patriarch of the family, who was admiring his wife stacking the books up accordingly.

“She does it so much better than I do, my Penelope does,” Grim said by way of explanation. “As for our girls, they’re quite well. They miss their cousin, Sullivan, desperately, but he’s a sixth-year this year, and can’t come to the house as often.”

Sirius nodded, knowing that Grim and Penelope had taken custody of their nephew, since Sullivan’s father, Elwin, had died under mysterious circumstances. “How much longer until Addison goes to Hogwarts?” he asked.

“Two years, and she’s quite put out that she won’t be there when Sullivan is,” Grim joked a little then, “but Sullivan wants to work for the ministry.”

“I’m sure Addison will do quite well at Hogwarts, when the time comes.”

Grim nodded, and Penelope flashed him a smile as she dove into a box and levitated more books out to display on their shelf and counter space. “Melody is worse,” the man continued. “She’s got four years, but every time September comes, she begs me to write to the minister and ask if she can attend Hogwarts early.”

“Eager, that one,” Sirius put in.

“Doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Penelope said, straightening her blonde plait as she continued levitating books onto their available surfaces. “My girls absolutely love anything and everything about learning new things. Nothing will stop them...” She trailed off, and finally levitated a specially bound book over to Sirius. “From our family to yours, like always.”

Sirius smiled, taking the book and shrinking it down before slipping it into his saddle bag. “And I’ve a gift for your girls, as always,” he said, dipping into another compartment of the bag, and bringing out two beautiful boxes. “Tap them once to unshrink them,” he explained, and floated them over towards the Fawley’s.

“Oh, Sirius, they’re beautiful,” Penelope cooed, as Grim promptly tapped his wand gently upon their surfaces, and they each grew about two inches across.

“Music boxes,” Grim said, clearly touched, as he caressed the expertly carved names of his two daughters upon the surface.

Sirius nodded. “Penelope mentioned last year how much the girls loved the one I commissioned for your family, so I believed that the two of them should have one of their own.”

“What music did you use, Sirius?” Penelope asked, looking up.

“Vivaldi’s _Gloria_ for Addison, and Bach’s _Arioso_ for Melody,” Sirius said. “Two beautiful pieces for two beautiful girls.”

Penelope painstakingly shrunk down the music boxes and clutched them briefly to her chest, before putting a Cushioning Charm onto the pair of them and settled them inside her own set of saddlebags. “You are a generous man, Sirius Black.”

Sirius smiled and bowed to her. “Thank you, Lady Fawley,” he replied formally.

“And how is young Harry, Sirius?” Grim asked; ever since Sirius had taken Harry into his care, Harry and Sirius always attended various summer or Christmas gatherings at Fawley Farm, the Fawley estate, in Exeter.

“Harry is well, thank you, Grim,” Sirius told him. “He’s still unsure what he wants to do with his life, but I’m confident that, if I don’t sit on him about it, he will come to a decision that won’t be met with controversy from any party.”

“I had heard that he was due back at Hogwarts,” Penelope said, straightening out a stack of tomes that had proved to be a bit wayward when it came to organizing. “Dolores Umbridge—never liked the woman myself, but she always likes to have a gossip whenever we pass one another—said that he was going to meet Albus and Gellert for tea.”

“Yes,” Sirius replied, “Albus has always been as a grandfather to Harry, as has Gellert. There was even talk of Gellert wanted to take Harry on as his apprentice, come graduation, but Harry declined the offer.”

Grim blinked. “It’s a worthy position, Sirius, and Merlin knows that Harry’s Defense scores on both his OWLs and his NEWTs were rumored to be the best since Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin took the course for themselves as adults, when putting together the curriculum...”

“Harry seems to want a different position altogether, but he’s not informed me of what,” Sirius told the man quietly. “I’ve told him more than once that I would happily support him being a man of leisure, and Merlin knows that he would need to either oversee or sell off the land left to him by Lily and James at their various properties throughout England, Scotland, Ireland, and the rest of Europe...”

Penelope smiled in a considerate manner towards Sirius. “I am quite positive that Harry will be happy when he reaches his decision, Severus. My own sister, Minerva—half-sister, you understand, as I was from our mother’s second marriage, after she was widowed, and went on to marry a wizard, thus producing me—works for a rather elusive character.”

“You’ve mentioned the earl to me,” Sirius replied with a nod. “Does she really not have any information on her own employer?”

“It isn’t that, Sirius,” Penelope said. “It’s that the earl makes his employees adhere to strict rules about what they can and cannot reveal about their positions. She’s his housekeeper, that I know, and, in case of an emergency of some kind, I know the home is located in Essex. She has an emergency Portkey to come to Fawley Farm if she ever has need of it, but she hasn’t utilized it as far as I’m aware.”

“I remember Minerva from one of your gatherings,” Sirius said. “An uptight, stern and strict woman, if I remember correctly.”

Penelope sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s true,” she said.

Grim put an arm around his wife’s waist. “Minerva hasn’t been the same since her husband, Elphinstone, died over a decade ago,” he said quietly.

“Robert and Malcolm, her brothers, and Minerva were all so much older than me,” Penelope explained, wringing her hands upon her apron. “The three of them, plus our mother, were so distraught when her husband died, that she seemed to waste away for a time. However, when she met my father, Clifton Sterling, met her at a wizarding convention in France, about a dozen and a half years after her husband had died. Minerva, by this time, was already working for the Ministry of Magic, which she did before entering into the earl’s service. She, Robert, and Malcolm were dead-set against their mother finding happiness again, especially after the quick engagement and hasty marriage, which was only rushed because our mother was already pregnant with me.”

“Three months,” Grim put in. “They’d known one another three months, and already Penelope was on her journey into existence.”

“Mother died just six days after my birth, and my brothers resented my birth so much that they never so much as spoke to me,” Penelope said, lowering her eyes. “Minerva came around, when I wrote to her, telling her that I’d met Grim, and we were to be married. When Addison was born, we were close that I named my firstborn after her—Addison Minerva Fawley. She’s just wonderful with the girls, and is civil to both me and to Grim, but I have it on good authority that she’s much closer to Robert, Malcolm, and their children. No built-up resentment on either end, you know?”

Sirius nodded, thinking of all the resentment within the Black family, which both Grim and Penelope were well-aware of. “Oh, I know, Penelope,” he said softly. “I know all too well where built-up resentment comes from. Truly I do.”

~*~

Sirius left the market at the end of the week, slightly discouraged that none of the booths that year were selling flowers. Determined to keep his promise to Harry, he decided to make a stop in Diagon Alley before his ultimate arrival at Grimmauld Place, knowing quite well that the flower sellers would have some lilies for Harry, which would be just as beautiful. Sirius bid farewell to the Fawley family and hitched up Buckbeak to the cart, after he had gathered his belongings, plus the compass that he’d created just prior to leaving Grimmauld, knowing that he should give it to Harry, and not sell it.

Buckbeak traveled steadily out of the Colchester market, and Sirius charismatically tipped his hat to all the ladies who passed by, and bowed to the gentlemen. He kept a good hold upon Buckbeak, knowing that, if push came to shove, he could easily shrink his belongings and fly the hippogriff home, but they had gone through Epping Forest on the Sacred Wizard’s Path for so many years prior to this, that he knew that his familiar knew which way to go. However, as they traveled hour after hour through the woods, the fog and the mist seemed to be growing thicker around them, and Sirius grew concerned that they had made a wrong turn somewhere, as nothing seemed to look familiar any longer.

Sirius’s breaths made sizeable clouds in the air around him, and the only things that could be heard were Buckbeak clopping along the forest floor, Sirius’s breathing, and the faraway hoot of various owls, flying overhead. The sky continued to darken around them, and Sirius kept ahold of the reins, knowing that Buckbeak could potentially spook if something, or someone, untoward crossed paths with them. The Gryffindor man swallowed, heart pounding in his chest, and neither he nor the hippogriff saw the oversized tree root just ahead of them, it was so dark, and Sirius had not yet taken his wand out from his robes to cast a _Lumos_.

Just as Buckbeak stumbled, there were various howls, suddenly upon them, and Buckbeak startled completely, trying to get over the tree root as quickly as possible. Because of that, the cart jostled, and Sirius went flying out of it, only managing to grab the saddle bag with the compass and the book from the Fawley family inside of it. Looking up through his dark hair, he watched as a pack of werewolves ran after the cart, and Buckbeak disappeared down the trail and into the darkness ahead.

“Greyback,” Sirius whispered, his canine senses coming out to play, as he remembered the werewolf man that kept company with his deranged cousin, Bellatrix. Managing to shove himself to his feet, Sirius deduced that he was sore and bruised, but not seriously injured. After making sure that his wand was still in his robe pocket, and that the Cushioning Charms placed upon the compass and the large tome had survived the fall, Sirius grabbed his robe more closely around him, knowing that he couldn’t stay in the woods that night, for winter was less than a month away and, due to the werewolves lurking nearby, it was dangerous.

Swallowing, Sirius stumbled forward, his puffs of breath still making clouds in the darkening air, and he walked the path that Buckbeak had gone, wondering what he might find. Within a dozen or so paces, he came to a grove of trees, which ultimately led to a clearing and, at the end of it, a mighty black iron gate. Perplexed, as Sirius was unaware of such a house, he reasoned that it was because he was so horribly lost in the first place that he was unable to know of its whereabouts or its existence beforehand. Shaking his head, Sirius stepped forward, knowing that whatever lay beyond the gates would be his only salvation, as it was quite late, drew out his wand, hoping beyond hope that a Standard Unlocking Spell would do the trick.

“ _Alohomora_ ,” Sirius whispered. He felt immediate relief when something from within the gates clicked, and the opened inward, thus permitting the man to step through. Sirius immediately stepped forward, returning his wand into his pocket, and dragged his bag upwards upon his shoulder as he moved through the darkness. He felt the change of ground surface, and discovered that he was now walking upon hard stone as he stepped into whatever the area was and, just beyond the mist, saw a grand old house. “Merlin,” Sirius whispered, amazed to see such richness laid out before him.

It was a gothic structure, clearly, with numerous archways at the portion of the house Sirius was standing at, with a long gallery leading both ways, and a broad door in the center. Sirius went towards the door and immediately raised his hand to knock, but the door seemed to open automatically, and he immediately went inside. It was considerably dark within the place, and large, due to the massive echo the door made when it shut behind him. Old oil paintings of the Tudor style with beautiful brush work and impressive frames littered the walls, while the highly-polished wood floor was covered in the most expensive Turkish rug Sirius had ever seen. There was a decorative candelabra, placed upon a bolt of Belgian lace, on the side table, and the piece was lit, so Sirius, again, not considering his wand, made a grab for it and held it aloft.

There was a chandelier—made of expensive diamonds, crystal, and wrought with gold—perched in the center of the ceiling of the entrance hall, and, as Sirius dragged the candelabra back and forth, he saw a massive sweeping staircase beyond, along with doors on the upper floor. Upon the floor he currently stood in, he saw a hallway to the left, a corridor to the right, and other doors on either side of the staircase. He stepped forward then, and the floor quickly squeaked below his traveling boot.

“Hello?” he whispered into the darkness.

“I don’t like it, Mr. Weasley,” came the strict voice of Minerva McGonagall, and Sirius was floored that this was her place of employment.

“The wards went off because a magical being is here, ma’am,” came the reply of Harry’s dearest friend, Ron Weasley. “I think we should go and see what they need.”

“The master will not like it,” Minerva replied, her voice attempting to chastise the boy. “If he finds out that we willingly let someone in...”

There was a disdainful huff then, one which Sirius instantly recognized as belonging to Hermione Granger, Ron’s fiancée and Harry’s other dear friend. “Hardly willing,” she replied, as she had always been a stickler for the rules. “The wards accepted him automatically, as he was either in peril, had the magic to do so, or is a kinsmen of the master,” she said, obviously having taken the rules and regulations of her position quite seriously. “We can simply _Obliviate_ him if they truly don’t belong here, ma’am.”

“And what of the ministry, Miss Granger?” Minerva questioned the girl.

“They hardly know that the master is in the position he is,” Hermione said, obviously reminding her of something. “They believe the family to be extinct, as opposed to extant. While we cannot say for certain what will happen if we attempt to _Obliviate_ the person—should they retaliate—I firmly believe that seeking out their identity beforehand is a must, ma’am.”

Minerva sighed, obviously reluctant. “You two go,” she said. “I have to finish the master’s dinner, for you know full well that he hates things not going according to his very own personal schedule.”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Ron, and suddenly he appeared from an inner door close to the staircase, towing Hermione behind him. “Sirius?!” he demanded, squinting in the darkness. “Is that you over there?!”

“Oh, Sirius!” Hermione cried out then, rushing forward, and throwing herself into the man’s arms, and kissing him on the cheek. “Oh!” she squeaked, pulling back then, and shaking her head with disdain. “You’ll catch your death...” Tutting to herself, she drew out her wand and waved it in a rather complex manner, causing a burst of hot air to ambush Sirius, thus rendering him the perfect temperature.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said gratefully.

“How did you find the place?” Ron asked, immediately moving to take Sirius’s bag. He drew him deeper into the house, out the door they had come, and into a small seating area, one that Sirius deduced was where the servants would eat.

“I was coming back from the market in Colchester, as I always do this time of year,” Sirius replied, smiling gratefully at Hermione as she took off his outer robes and hung them up upon a peg nailed to the wall close by. “I missed the turn to take me directly through to London, it seems, and it suddenly got cold and dark. I thought for sure that Dementors were upon me,” he admitted, shuddering.

“Wouldn’t doubt it,” Ron muttered, disappearing through an inner door.

Sirius immediately turned to Hermione. “What is he speaking of?”

Hermione sighed, her brown eyes sad. “One of the requirements for taking a position working for the earl is the ability to cast a Patronus Charm,” she informed the man. “He has Dementors guarding various locations throughout his expansive property. You’re quite lucky that you didn’t encounter any,” she told him.

Sirius nodded. “Yes, lucky,” he said softly.

“So, you were returning from the market,” Hermione said.

Sirius nodded. “Yes. I took a wrong turn, and Greyback’s pack discovered Buckbeak running away from him,” he explained, and Hermione gasped, drawing her hands to her mouth. “I was dropped next to a rather large tree, with only my wand, plus that bag,” he said, nodding to where Hermione had hung it up beside his robes.

Hermione sighed, rolling her shoulders, appearing as if she wished to say something further, but was cut off as Ron came strutting in, levitating a basket of bread, a tankard of ale, and a platter filled with roast, roasted vegetables, and roasted potatoes. As he stepped inside, however, there was a flash of purple hair, and a shriek coming from a child, as he darted around Ron’s legs, a mighty giggle escaping his lips.

“Teddy,” Hermione scolded, catching ahold of him before he could knock Ron off his feet, and Ron managed to place the food before Sirius. “What have I told you about running about when servants are working, or carrying something heavy?”

Teddy, the little boy that Hermione was reprimanding, pouted; he was quite an adorable child, and couldn’t be more than three or four. “Not to do it,” he said, his hair turning a pale blue, and Sirius believed that he was very articulate for his age.

Ron smiled indulgently as Sirius began to eat, and gently lifted Teddy into his arms. “Don’t think I won’t tell my mum what you’ve been up to, young man.”

“No, Won, no!” cried the boy, his hair going a deeper blue, and Sirius smirked as he drank his ale, finding it positively endearing that the boy couldn’t properly pronounce ‘R’ yet. “I won’t do it again, I won’t! Please, don’t tell Mowwy!” he begged, and Sirius deduced that ‘L’, especially in double form, was a problem for this boy Teddy as well.

Hermione sighed, gently pulling Teddy from Ron’s arms, and kissed his forehead. “You know quite well that the process is a long and complicated one, love,” she whispered.

Teddy lowered his eyes, his hair going a rather pathetic shade of red, which indicated embarrassment, clearly. “I know...”

“The Wizengamot needs to evaluate that we’re suitable, or they’ll reject our suit,” Ron said, and he appeared to be very stressed at the possibility.

Teddy turned back to Ron, his eyes sad. “I wanna be with you two,” he said, looking pleadingly at Ron, then at Hermione.

“What’s this, then?” Sirius asked, lowering his cutlery.

Hermione sighed, permitting Teddy back into Ron’s arms as she moved to sit across from Sirius, while Ron brought Teddy into the kitchen, speaking to him quietly. “Molly introduced us to Teddy when we first arrived,” she said, lowering her eyes to her fingers, which had successfully managed to knot themselves together. “No mother, and his father was unknown—Molly doesn’t believe that they ever married,” she explained, and Sirius nodded. “He is a wizard, that much we know, and appears to be a Metamorphmagus. Anyhow, Ron and I were so charmed by him, and, given Molly’s age and the notion that she had seven children already, Ron and I made the decision to formally adopt Teddy.”

Sirius’s eyes widened. “You’re sure?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes. We know we’re young, but we love him, we really do. We also know that the Wizengamot would look more favorably upon us if we were married, so we’re looking into marrying early. Of course, my parents know nothing of this...”

Sirius nodded. “Clearly. And what about Harry? Have you mentioned it to him?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, we have not yet mentioned it to Harry. To be quite frank, I think he would be as charmed by Teddy as Ron and I are, but I’m also fearful that the trial before the Wizengamot won’t go well, and we’ll be rejected because we’re not married, haven’t much money, and my lack of magical status...”

Sirius sighed. “Once I get back to London, would you allow me to speak with Albus and Gellert about this?” he asked, and Hermione looked unsure. “Just to explore potential avenues. The two of them may wish to reach out to you, but I give you my word, I will encourage them both to speak to you and Ron before any action is taken.”

Hermione smiled, her eyes filling with tears, as she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss onto Sirius’s cheek. “You are a good man, Sirius Black,” she whispered.

After Sirius had finished eating, and said goodnight to Ron and Teddy, Hermione showed Sirius to a guest suite in the east wing. She told him she would come to his room at eight the following morning, and make sure that he was awake, and would serve him breakfast. She assured him that they would figure out a way for him to get back to London and to Grimmauld, and that she would provide him with some food for his journey. Sirius thanked Hermione and said goodnight, and used the en suite to wash himself, before he collapsed into the four-poster featherbed.

The following morning, Sirius was shocked to see that his clothed had been laundered, and figured that a grand old house like this must employ a dozen house-elves. Smiling to himself, he quickly dressed, and met Hermione at the door. They chatted while Sirius ate a delightful bowl of porridge, and Hermione mentioned that Minerva had informed the earl of their unexpected guest and, since Sirius had proved to be no trouble, the earl would provide a fresh horse to take Sirius back to London, and, if Sirius so wished it, he could keep the animal. Sirius was shocked at the generosity and immediately accepted the offer.

Hermione snapped her fingers once Sirius had finished his breakfast, and the dishes were cleared away and sent off to the kitchens. Motioning for him to follow, Hermione guided Sirius outside via a side door, close to the stables, and Sirius was shocked to see that his robes and bag were awaiting him upon a peg in that hallway. Sirius put them on and walked outside after Hermione, and noticed a thin layer of frost covering the ground. As they stepped forward, Sirius took in a beautiful black horse, who bowed its head in greeting, and Sirius reached up to pet the animal, who huffed softly, apparently delighted by the attention.

“Walk with the animal towards the gates, and wait until you’ve cleared the grove of trees before getting on him,” Hermione explained. “Then, you’ll want to make a right and continue on until the first fork in the road. It’s the left fork you want to take, not the right, and this should get you back to London within a few hours.”

“Thank you, Hermione,” Sirius said, squeezing her offered hand. “I’ll speak to Albus and Gellert on behalf of you and Ron, likely by the end of the week.”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, thank you. And, when you see Harry, please... Let him know that Ron and I are all right,” she said softly.

Sirius smiled down at the girl. “Aye, I will,” he told her, and clicked his tongue, gently guiding the animal from the stable yard and towards the front one, Hermione lifting her hand aloft in a moment of farewell. As Sirius walked, he realized he would have to walk through the expansive garden on the property, which proved to be a flower one, and seemed to be under a Stasis Charm, permanently rendered so that the land appeared frozen in springtime. Shocked, Sirius saw a beautiful bed of lilies and, remembering his promise to Harry, stepped forward, and plucked a small handful from the bed.

No sooner had Sirius completed the picking of the flowers, was there a sudden _whoosh_ from behind him, and a tall man in elegantly-cut black robes stood before him. “I should have known it was _you_ ,” said a dangerously velvet-toned voice from behind him.

Sirius immediately snapped around, his eyes wide. “Snivellus?” he asked, perplexed. “What are you doing here? And, clearly, the years have not been kind to you...”

Lord Severus Snape, Earl of Murkwood Manor, stood before one of his childhood foes, Sirius Black, and narrowed his eyes at him. “I should have known that it would have been a Marauder who would attempt to come and find me, and to stare at me blatantly, in the wake of this curse placed upon me,” he growled at the man.

Sirius shook his head. “I don’t understand—”

“No, and I wouldn’t dream of you ever being capable of understanding,” he said, speaking to the man through his teeth. “Not only have I given you food and drink, but I’ve laundered your clothes, and permitted you sanctuary in my home, after you narrowly escaped a werewolf attack from that adversary Greyback,” the man continued. “I do all this for you, and provide you with a horse, after the hell on earth you put me through during our years of Hogwarts. All this is done for you, and yet you have the audacity—the _audacity_ , Black—to repay me by poaching from my bed of lilies, which I use for research, as well as for the brewing of Asphodel?!” he yelled, his voice having steadily grown louder and louder.

“Still playing with your potions set, are we, Snivellus?” Sirius said, and threw his head back and laughed heartily.

Severus’s eyes flashed, remembering how, as a younger man, how James Potter, the leader of the little Gryffindor gang of Marauders, had charmed Severus’s pantaloons off for all to see, with Sirius Black and their third friend, Remus Lupin, chanting for James to continue. His cheeks flushed at the memory, as well as the notion that Sirius had yet to grow up, and stepped forward, making a grab for Sirius’s collar, and glared down at him. “Perhaps, considering Albus didn’t see fit to give you just punishment, I should do the same now,” he growled.

Sirius looked shocked, the lilies falling woefully to the ground between them, apparently forgotten by the noblemen. “Now, S-Severus, perhaps we’re overthinking things...”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” the man replied, continuing to glare down at him. “I think a stay within my personal dungeons would do you some good, considering that you yourself attempted to lead me to my own death at the age of eighteen,” he said, and, with a snap of his fingers, the horse returned promptly to the stables, while Severus dragged a protesting Sirius towards the door of his potions lab, just off the corridor from the dungeons of Murkwood Manor.

~*~

It came as a complete surprise to Harry when, during lunch precisely ten days after Sirius had left Grimmauld Place for the Colchester market—and having had no letter from him—that there was an almighty clatter in the courtyard. Getting to his feet and leaving his half-eaten sandwich behind, Harry promptly made his way from the parlor and down the corridor towards the front door, which he opened, and was immediately ambushed by a pale blue hippogriff. Harry saw that Buckbeak was still tied to the cart, but there seemed to be one saddlebag missing, and Sirius was nowhere in sight.

“Buckbeak!” Harry shouted, charging forward and throwing up his hands. “Whoa, boy! Down, boy!” he said, and the beast promptly lowered his horse-like legs downward, still looking quite frightful at the situation. “What’s happened?” Harry demanded then, rushing forward, and taking ahold of his neck gently. “Where’s Sirius? Where is he, Buckbeak?” he asked, and the amber eyes tore from Harry’s green one and looked far off into the distance, and something told Harry that something had gone on in Epping Forest. “Right, then,” Harry said, unstrapping the hippogriff from the cart and banishing it into the stable area, and promptly summoned his traveling cloak, plus his rucksack—filled with his invisibility cloak, various healing potions, his Sneakoscope, and some scattered photographs he had of the people he was closest to. He tied his cloak in place and shrunk down his rucksack, placing it into the inner pocket of the cloak, which he drew closer, and hauled himself up onto Buckbeak’s back. “Take me to Sirius, Buckbeak, please, you’ve got to take me to him...”

Harry and Buckbeak—after the former gave quick word to Kreacher about what he knew—traveled to Epping Forest as quickly as they could. Harry was surprised at the hippogriff’s strength, but didn’t question it, knowing quite well that magical beasts were vastly different from Muggle ones. As they arrived in the forest and went down an unfamiliar road, Harry quickly deduced that Sirius and Buckbeak had taken a wrong turn, but that didn’t account for his godfather and guardian being missing, nor did it explain the fog and mist in the air. Recalling his experiences with Dementors, Harry swallowed and pushed the hippogriff on, the sound of werewolves howling in the distance as they arrived within a grove of trees didn’t help matters much either.

Finally, Harry spotted a black iron gate and urged Buckbeak closer, and used the Unlocking Spell to let them inside, and Harry was surprised at the gates’ willingness to cooperate. As soon as he lowered himself from Buckbeak upon entering the gate, the hippogriff trotted off somewhere, and Harry hoped that he’d be able to find him, once he managed to get Sirius out of there and back home. “What is this place?” he whispered to himself, placing a hand upon the front door, which automatically gave to his touch, and he stepped inside. “Hello? Is anyone here?” he called, his voice echoing throughout the entrance hall.

There was a creaking sound then, and, looking up, Harry noticed that there was a door beneath the left side of the sweeping spiral staircase opposite him. Harry promptly reached for his wand, but let it drop in a moment of surprise as Hermione darted out of the door, and, upon seeing that it was Harry standing before her, let out a sob and threw herself into his arms. Harry was almost knocked off his feet, and his heart nearly stopped when the door opened again and saw Ron standing there for a moment, hesitating, before he, too stepped forward.

“Blimey, mate!” Ron shouted, promptly lowering it when Hermione let go of Harry and elbowed him in the ribs. “Are you mad?!”

Harry laughed. “Definitely,” he replied, suddenly turning serious. “Buckbeak brought me here, after I asked him to take me to Sirius. Where is he? Why is he here?”

Hermione swallowed, looking at Ron for a moment, before she spoke. “Sirius has been taken prisoner by our master, the earl,” she replied, her voice a terrified whisper, as she continually gripped at her apron.

Harry blinked. “Taken prisoner? For what?” he cried out.

Ron swallowed. “His Grace said it was theft, mate,” his dearest friend replied, and Harry’s eyes snapped to his.

“Theft?” he cried out, looking around. “Sure, the house is beautiful, but Sirius would never take something—”

“It’s not what he stole in the house, Harry, but what he stole from the property,” Hermione said, clearly wanting to end the conversation.

“The property? What could he possibly have taken? Does the earl have a statue erected of himself or something, or a rare jewel out there?” Harry said, his face morphing into that of a sneer as he attempted to picture it. “You’re mental if you expect me to believe that someone like Sirius would shrink down something like that and steal it!”

“Mate, Sirius took a handful of lilies,” Ron whispered, and Harry felt his heart stuttering to a halt as he heard Ron’s words.

“He took what?” Harry whispered.

Hermione swallowed. “Sirius couldn’t find any at the market,” she whispered. “So, when he was coming back to London, he was distracted, and made a wrong turn.”

“It led him here,” Ron continued, “but Greyback’s pack separated him and Buckbeak. They both got away, but Buckbeak got to London and to Grimmauld, and Sirius found Murkwood,” he said, looking distressed.

“His Grace provided food and shelter for Sirius, and even laundered his clothing,” Hermione continued, biting her lower lip, hard. “Well, in the morning, after breakfast, I took Sirius outside to the fresh horse the earl had provided him with. After I told him how to utilize the horse to get back to you in London, he left. Because he left by way of the stables, he had to pass by the gardens, and the flower garden is under a permanent Stasis Charm, so as the earl can use the flowers for his potions. He’s a potions master,” Hermione put in.

“All the servants are permitted into the gardens, to walk or picnic if they wish, on the condition that they never take anything,” Ron said quietly.

“If we wish to pick flowers and place them somewhere in the house, we are permitted to do so, provided it’s from flowers the earl doesn’t need,” Hermione explained. “There’s also a kitchen garden, which we use to make the meals—”

“I know what a kitchen garden is, ‘Mione,” Harry said, never one to care about plants. “Please, just tell me what happened to Sirius.”

“Well, mate, after Sirius took the lilies, His Grace came outside and screamed at him. It was a bit frightening,” Ron admitted. “Well, His Grace dragged Sirius off to the dungeons, and that was that. Locked him up two days ago he did.”

“Apparently, there was some bad blood between them—at least, I think so, judging by the facial expressions,” Hermione whispered. “His Grace put up a strong _Muffliato_ , and I couldn’t hear a word of their conversation.”

Harry’s mouth set into a firm line then. “Dungeons are notoriously in the basement,” he said quietly, “and, if memory serves me right in History of Magic, most noble houses have their inside basement staircases near to the kitchen.” Pushing past Ron and Hermione, despite their protests, Harry went through the door they had come out of, and saw a door that didn’t swing dramatically, so he knew that this must lead to the basement.

Harry opened the door and charged down the staircase, the temperature around him immediately getting to freezing cold, prompting Harry to pull the hood of his cloak up, as he walked along the darkened stone corridor, which was illuminated scantly by torches along the wall. When he came around a bed, he heard a coughing, and immediately charged forward upon seeing the rows upon rows of cells. When he gripped the bars of one, gently touching the hands of the prisoner, the pale blue eyes he’d grown up with latched onto his, and Harry was shocked at how gaunt his guardian looked.

“Sirius?” Harry whispered.

Sirius coughed. “Harry...” He managed to get out.

“Merlin, you’re freezing!” Harry hissed, but didn’t let go of his hands, and looked around, thinking that the cell door obviously had a more complex system than the Unlocking Charm. “I have to get you out of here somehow, get you home...”

“Harry, listen to me,” Sirius said, clearing his throat quietly, “I want you to turn around, go back upstairs, find Buckbeak, and get out of here.”

Harry blinked. “What? No. I’m staying with you until I figure out a way to get you out of this blasted cell, and we’ll go back to Grimmauld together...”

“Harry, please listen...”

“No, you listen,” Harry said, cutting across him. “You’re ill. You need to go to St. Mungo’s, for it looks so bad. I won’t leave you here—”

“Harry, please...”

“Who’s done this to you, Sirius?!”

“I can’t... It’s too complicated to explain, there’s no time!” Sirius hissed. “You’ve got to get out of here while you still can—”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Harry yelled back. Just then, he was grabbed from behind and yanked back from the bars and tossed across the room.

“Who invited you into my home?!” growled a new voice.

“Harry, run!” screamed Sirius.

Harry drew back then, looking around, but could not get a glimpse of the person who had grabbed him. “Who grabbed me?” he demanded through his teeth, launching himself back to his feet, his eyes flitting around in the darkness. “How dare you put your hands upon me!”

“How dare you come into my home without permission,” came the velvet-like voice in reply, and Harry felt his senses battling then, for the voice itself, when not growling at him, was completely delicious.

“I’ve come for Sirius, my godfather,” Harry said, straightening up, knowing that being direct with this person was likely the only way to get his point across. “You’ve got to let him out of there, he’s ill!”

“He should not have stolen from my potion garden,” growled the man, and Harry immediately changed his mind—the man sounded delicious even when growling.

“He could die if he isn’t taken to St. Mungo’s,” Harry protested, knowing that he had to keep a level head here.

“He stole lilies,” the man sneered. “I need them to brew my potions.”

Harry gritted his teeth. “He got the lilies for me, to put upon my mother’s grave,” he told the mysterious man, who stiffened visibly in the near darkness. “I asked him for the lilies, although I did not ask him to steal them on my behalf. However, he did so, and although he committed the theft, he did so for me.” Harry stepped closer to the man then. “I humbly ask that you release my godfather, so that I may be locked away in his place.”

“Harry!” Sirius shouted. “What are you thinking?! I won’t allow you to—”

“You wish to take your godfather’s place?” the man queried.

“I’ve just said so, yes,” Harry replied.

The man turned around then, suddenly, almost as if he expected Harry to draw back from him in fear, but Harry did not, and instead merely stared into the haunting black pools that were the man’s eyes. He also boasted long raven hair, a hooked and regal-looking nose, thin lips, and pale skin which rivaled his own. “Very well,” the man said, drinking in Harry’s appearance, and lifted his hand, causing the bars upon the cell to vanish, and Sirius fell to the ground, weak. “Say your goodbyes, then,” he ordered, turning about.

Sirius reached into his pocket, pressing two small things into Harry’s hand. “Hide these,” he managed to get out, and stumbled to his feet, pressing a kiss onto his forehead. “You don’t know what he is capable of. Stay strong, and be careful...”

Harry nodded. “Of course I shall,” he replied, placing what he realized were the compass and a new tome from the Fawley family, both shrunken down, into his pocket. “Always on my guard, like you taught me.”

The earl sneered at the display, obviously impatient. “Dobby,” he said a moment later, clearly wishing to get the charade over with.

There was a crack then, and a house-elf, noticeably younger than Kreacher, suddenly appeared in the dungeons. “Master has called for Dobby?” he asked.

“Yes,” said the earl. “Once this Harry person has bidden goodbye to Sirius, you will remove Sirius from my house. Take both Sirius and his hippogriff to his house in London, Number 12 Grimmauld Place, then return here, and escort Harry to rooms in the east wing.”

Dobby nodded, his ears flapping. “Yes, Your Grace,” he replied, grabbing ahold of Sirius, and vanishing with a crack.

Harry looked up at the man, and sighed. “Shall I, too, address you as ‘Your Grace’?” he asked, his tone genuinely questioning.

The man turned and regarded Harry for a moment. “I do not care one whit what you call me, Harry, provided that it is not ‘greasy git’,” he growled, his robes snapping as he turned away from Harry.

Dobby popped back a moment later. “Master Harry?” he said, and offered the eighteen-year-old his hand.

Harry gave a tentative smile at the elf and took his hand. They cracked out of the dungeons and into a pleasant room in the east wing, with walls that matched Harry’s eyes. “Thank you, Dobby,” he said quietly.

“His Grace will want you to join him for dinner,” Dobby squeaked, lowering his eyes, leading Harry to believe that it wasn’t a request. “Your valet will be along shortly to help you dress, as master will want you to be comfortable.”

Harry gave a nod, and thanked the elf, before he cracked away. Rushing forward and peering out of one of the windows, he looked across the grounds. Snow had fallen, and now there were heavy drifts all around, making traveling dangerous, if not impossible. “Comfortable,” Harry said bitterly, hunching his shoulders and wrapping his arms around himself. “However am I supposed to be comfortable when I’ve signed myself up as a prisoner?” he whispered.


	3. Sledge-Hammer Arguement

Harry opened his eyes the following morning, noticing that someone had drawn the curtains of the windows in his new chambers on his behalf. He didn’t want to admit it, but he had slept rather well, with the bed and new pair of nightclothes he found within his wardrobe being exceptionally comfortable. Pushing himself up and out of the bed, he noticed that the table close to the window had a steaming bowl of porridge upon it, plus a platter of pastries which smelled heavenly, and Harry had to admit, even to himself, how hungry he was.

Harry crossed the room, which he noticed was likely heated by Warming Charms on the swatches of highly-polished wood which were not hidden beneath the expensive carpets which littered the floor. Moving to sit upon the lovely chair, Harry pulled the bowl of porridge towards him, watching with delight as a tea service arrived as well. There was also a generous helping of butter within its own little dish, as well as a bowl of sugar, which he supposed was to be used for his tea, as well as the porridge. Once Harry had tasted the delight that was his breakfast, he soon realized that he would not starve while under the earl’s care, for lack of a better term, and it filled him with immense relief, for he had spent the first five years of his life in a state of perpetual starvation, and it was not something he wished to ever experience again.

Once Harry finished with his breakfast, the dishes seemed to understand and vanished themselves, likely to return to the kitchen to be washed. He startled a bit as he got to his feet and heard someone knocking at the door, and cleared his throat promptly. “Come in,” he said, hoping that the earl wasn’t checking up on him.

The door opened, and Harry’s eyes widened as Neville stood there, and the taller young man gave him a tentative smile. “Morning, Harry,” he said, as the doors automatically swung shut behind him. “I’ve come to see how you are, and to help you get ready.”

Harry blinked. “Help me get ready?”

Neville nodded. “Yes. His Grace the earl has assigned me to be your personal valet, and I take my position very seriously.”

Harry shuffled from foot-to-foot. “Who is the earl’s valet?” he asked as Neville crossed over to the wardrobe, and peered inside.

“Richard, Baron of Hollowick,” Neville replied, getting out a day suit for Harry from the wardrobe and banishing it over to Harry, who promptly began to change. “His wife, Baroness Helena, is the head maid here, one leg down from Mrs. McGonagall, the housekeeper. Her mother and father were the personal valet and head maid to His Grace’s great-uncle, Earl Geoffrey, and his great-aunt, Countess Ismenia,” he rattled off flawlessly. “They live in the village outside of Epping Forest in their retirement, with Baron Richard and Baroness Helena’s four children going back and forth. Since they attend the local primary wizarding school in Essex, they come and visit on the weekends or the lengthy term holidays. They cannot come right before Christmas or the summer holidays, however, due to important examinations taking place at the school,” Neville continued, a small smile upon his lips as he considered that, as Harry continued dressing, “but they should be along at any time now, in a few weeks, of course, and His Grace the earl is always quite accommodating of their comings and goings, always lending a carriage for the trips.”

“The earl doesn’t mind them visiting?” Harry queried, pulling up the trousers and tucking in the shirt upon the suit.

“Oh, Merlin, no,” Neville responded, shaking his head. “Lettice is ten, Ralph is eight, Odelina is six, and Andrew is three. Andrew is the only one who remains here all the time, and is a companion for Teddy, given their similar ages.” Neville smiled more broadly as Harry finished dressing himself, and nodded in approval as the bespectacled, green-eyed wizard tied the tie upon the suit expertly. “Very good. The earl has decreed that Ron and Hermione may show you about today, provided that you don’t mind that Teddy accompanies them.”

Harry blinked; he hadn’t asked before, but wanted to do so now. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who Teddy is,” he admitted.

Neville swallowed uncomfortably then, plastering a smile upon his lips. “Well, I assure you that Ron and Hermione will introduce you forthwith,” he decreed, before turning on his heel and leaving Harry’s chambers.

Shaking his head, Harry slipped his wand into the provided holster within the sleeve of the suit and trekked out of the room behind Neville, with the door automatically shutting behind him. He arrived at the staircase in no time, and came upon the entrance hall, where, just last evening, he had run into Ron and Hermione. As he went down the staircase, he heard a door opening from below, and Ron’s red head, Hermione’s bushy one, and one with a shock of pink hair came into view, and Harry raised his eyebrows, especially when he saw Hermione cuddling the little pink-haired being close.

“Harry!” Ron said, hearing his best mate upon the stairs and turning around, and Hermione did so as well with a broad smile, the little mite in her arms looking inquisitively up at Harry with intelligent dark eyes.

“Good morning, Harry,” Hermione said, her tone more reserved as Harry finished walking down the staircase, and stepped forward to kiss him lightly upon the cheek. “Teddy, darling, would you say, ‘good morning’ to Harry, please?”

“Goo’ mornin’, Hawwy,” Teddy replied, giving Harry a shy smile.

Harry quickly found himself enchanted with Teddy, and offered him a hand, but was quite surprised when Teddy launched himself forward, throwing himself into Harry’s arms, and Harry let out a startled laugh at that, holding him close. “Well, you’re a friendly young man, aren’t you?” he asked, looking around his unexpected armful of toddler, and giving Ron and Hermione curious expressions. “Who is this, then?”

“Me Teddy!” Teddy proclaimed, pulling himself back to get a good look at Harry, his hair turning blue, green, red, and finally yellow, before going back to pink. “Mummy and Daddy have told me about you, Hawwy!” the toddler said with glee, and gently took ahold of Harry’s cheeks, his palms warm and soft. “C’n I call you Unca Hawwy?” he asked, his lashes long and his eyes innocent, as he looked the man over.

“Well, yes, of course,” Harry told the toddler, raising his eyebrows at the forthright nature of the little thing, and maneuvered his head slightly so as he could regard his close friends. “Something you want to tell me?”

“Teddy, darling,” Hermione said, gently rubbing Teddy’s back, and he turned round to stare at her engagingly. “Why don’t we go outside first? There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Vewy well, Mummy,” Teddy said, allowing himself to be taken by Hermione, who walked to the end of the hallway, and summoned long coats for the two of them, before they stepped outside into the snowy garden.

“We wanted to write you about Teddy, mate,” Ron confessed, hands in his pockets as they slowly walked along. “We just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Harry sighed, and they both non-verbally summoned coats for the two of them, and wrapped himself in the one that came to him, one he recognized from his cursory glance within his wardrobe, when Neville had opened it earlier. “It isn’t something one could merely read about in owl post without spitting tea out upon it,” he admitted.

Ron nodded. “Exactly. However, you should know that Mum found him, cold, hungry, and a mere baby, placed upon the stoop of the servants’ entrance,” he admitted, and Harry swallowed, for he, too had been left in similar circumstances at the cottage of his aunt and uncle, nearly twenty years previously. “There was a note, saying that his own mother was quite ill and likely to die, so Mum took him. She’s kept him close, as a companion for Baron and Baroness Hollowick’s son, Andrew, but when ‘Mione and I started working here, we just became so enchanted with him that we made plans to adopt him ourselves.”

Harry sighed. “Do you suppose that’s wise?” he asked. “Granted, you and ‘Mione have plenty of love to give him, but you’re so young. Are you quite positive you would be the best fit for him? I suppose Bill and Fleur would be...”

“Harry, no offense, but my brother and his wife aren’t good candidates to raise Teddy, for two reasons,” Ron explained. “For one thing, Bill and Fleur don’t have a rapport with him, as ‘Mione and I do, and, for another, Fleur is expecting,” he said, whispering this particular tidbit of information, for both young men had been taught from an early age not to mention such things regularly, let alone in public.

Harry whistled, realizing how happy he was for Ron’s eldest sibling, to have found such a love match, as well as to be raising a family with her. “Yes, I see,” he said, recalling the marriage of Bill and Fleur.

Their romance had begun the summer after Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s fourth-year, after Fleur had moved permanently from England to France, and began working for Gringotts Wizarding Bank in Diagon Alley, in order to improve her English speaking. While there, the pair had fallen in love almost instantly, and had begun a traditional courtship. They had married the August before, at a lovely ceremony hosted by Arthur and Molly Weasley at their home in Ottery St. Catchpole, the Burrow, with Harry, Sirius, and everyone important to the families were in attendance.

Fleur, who Ginny and Hermione hadn’t liked much in the beginning, was part-Veela, and although Harry himself had never been drawn to her, he had to admit that she was a lovely woman, and she seemed to like Harry as well. Harry knew that this likely had to do with the fact that he had never acted untoward with Fleur, always coming across like the perfect gentleman, as he was bred to be. Fleur came from the ancient De la Coure family (who had slammed their name together and took off the ‘E’ at the end, in a manner that Hermione and Ginny believed to be unbecoming) which was filled with powerful French witches and wizards, and Harry enjoyed hearing about them from Fleur and her little sister, Gabrielle, although Ginny didn’t like Harry interacting with the latter. Harry thought it was ridiculous, and even though Gabrielle was a lovely girl, she was a mere eleven years of age when Fleur and Bill’s wedding took place, so he was hardly going to put either of them in a compromising position.

“We’ve already petitioned the Wizengamot for a formal conference so as we can legitimately adopt Teddy,” Ron continued, opening the door for Harry and moving to the side, so as his friend could step outside first.

Harry smiled. “Of course, it would likely go more smoothly, were you and Hermione married beforehand,” he put in.

Ron nodded. “Yes, we’re aware of that. We’ve asked His Grace if we might utilize the chapel, further along the grounds, for the ceremony.”

Harry blinked. “There is a chapel on the grounds?”

“Yes, just beyond the garden, in between that plot of land and the gamekeeper’s cottage,” Ron explained as they walked towards the area where the stables were kept. “We attend services there each Sunday, even His Grace,” he went on. “It is the wizarding form of Anglican services, and Hermione and I find the words of the vicar uplifting and lovely. Teddy, bless him, has the voice of an angel, and Hermione’s teaching him how to sing the hymns and such properly.”

“Has the earl granted his permission for you and Hermione to be married in the chapel?” Harry wanted to know.

Ron nodded. “He has. We’re to be married next month, and the formal conference before the Wizengamot is scheduled for the spring.”

“It is kind of him to consent,” Harry admitted.

Ron sighed as the trudged the rest of the way towards the stables, the snow silent beneath their booted feet. “He is truly a fair master to serve,” the redheaded wizard informed the emerald-eyed one in a quiet manner, “and I’m not merely saying so, Harry. I mean, we’re pre-conditioned to have our own thoughts and beliefs for a reason. The very fact that you stood up to His Grace and volunteered to take Sirius’s place here...” He sighed. “You showed true Gryffindor bravery, and although His Grace was a Slytherin, I’ve heard from other members of the staff that you surprised him that night.”

Harry sighed. “I suppose it all really came down to the debt I feel towards Sirius,” he admitted as they approached the entrance to the stables. “He rescued me from ill-treatment as a child, and I saw last night as an opportunity to repay him.”

“You’re family, mate,” Ron said, casually draping his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “You shouldn’t have felt that way.”

“Nevertheless, I did,” Harry informed him. He hesitated for a moment, before he turned and regarded his friend. “Don’t you and Hermione have chores to do?”

Ron’s red brows knit together. “What do you mean, mate?”

Harry swallowed. “Well, I don’t want either of you getting into trouble on my account. Trouble seems to follow me,” he said softly.

Ron shook his head. “Don’t worry. It isn’t like that.”

Harry blinked. “How do you mean?”

“His Grace figured out how close you, me, and Hermione are,” Ron stated patiently. “He said that we should show you around.”

Harry shook his head. “Why would he do that?”

“Because this is your home now,” Ron said quietly, and Harry looked away then, the reminder that he could not turn to Grimmauld, even after willingly sacrificing himself on Sirius’s behalf, still a bitter pill to swallow.

“I remember,” Harry said softly.

“His Grace just wants you to be comfortable, mate,” Ron replied, and Harry nodded, allowing Ron to retain his arm there for a moment as they finally stepped into the warmth of the stables, watching as Hermione, still holding onto Teddy, was pointing to various horses and whispering facts about them.

“That one there is a Destrier,” she explained, and Teddy looked wonderingly up at the beautiful and massive black stallion in one section of the stable. “This particular horse belongs to His Grace, and his name is Thurston. He’s a strong breed, one of the strongest out there; Muggles don’t have access to them anymore, as they don’t see the need for them, but Thurston here is very capable of carrying armor on his own.”

“C’n Teddy pet Thurston?” the child asked, somehow able to pronounce the name.

Hermione nodded at him. “Yes, but gently, love,” she instructed, stepping closer. “Although Thurston here is quite friendly, horses are proud animals and can still spook easily.” The pair stepped all the way up to where Thurston was, and the beautiful animal whinnied in greeting, and shuffled slightly as he watched Hermione reach into her cloak pocket and draw out an apple. “I should think he wants to make friends.”

Teddy eyed the apple, a bright shade of red within Hermione’s pale hand. “Teddy give Thurston the apple, Mummy?” he asked.

Hermione nodded, demonstrating how to flatten one’s hand so that Teddy wouldn’t get bitten by the majestic beast before them. “Go ahead, love,” she said, leaning forward slightly as Teddy flattened his hand and offered the piece of fruit to Thurston.

Thurston inhaled the offering and clopped as close as his could, delicately unsheathing his teeth from within his lips and taking a tentative bite of the apple. The horse blinked rapidly as he chewed, effectively finishing the treat quickly. One he was finished, he bowed his head, and little Teddy promptly reached out and delicately petted the animal’s nose.

“Like velvet,” Teddy said wonderingly.

Harry looked around the stables, seeing the pale blue and silver feathers belonging to Buckbeak, who was placed upon the other end. Striding forward towards the familiar animal, Buckbeak lifted his head and let out a chortle in Harry’s direction. Harry smiled, bowing to him, and Buckbeak promptly lowered his head respectfully, yellow eyes quickly flickering back and forth to get a good look at everyone in the stables around him.

“Teddy,” Harry asked, following Buckbeak’s gaze, and watched as the small boy finished greeting Thurston properly, “have you met a hippogriff before?”

Teddy turned around slowly then, so as not to spook Thurston, and stared, wide-eyed, at the creature just beside Harry. “No, Unca Hawwy,” he replied.

Harry stepped back towards Hermione, looking at his friend questioningly, and she promptly gave Teddy over to him. “Come along, then,” he said, and slowly approached Buckbeak, who regarded the pair with an air of curiosity. “This is Buckbeak,” Harry said softly. “Can you bow your head towards him? It’s seen as a sign of respect.”

Teddy’s brow puckered. “Like when I bow to His Gwace?” he asked.

Harry nodded. “Exactly.”

Teddy struggled for a moment, and Harry let him go, placing him gently upon the ground close to Buckbeak’s section. Teddy promptly bowed to the creature, who let out a cooing sound, and bowed back to him. “Now what, Unca Hawwy?” the boy asked, peeking up at him, his hair turning a bright shade of yellow in his excitement.

Harry stepped towards Teddy ever so slightly, and the toddler promptly lifted his arms to be picked up again. Harry smiled indulgently and picked up the small child before turning back to face the hippogriff. “Gently lean forward and pat him,” he instructed, and stepped closer to the beast, tentatively so, and smiled as the hippogriff lowered his head so that the child could caress his feathers ever so slightly.

“Oh, soft,” Teddy whispered then, awestruck.

“You can ride him, you know,” Ron said, coming up behind them slowly, his arm wrapped around Hermione’s waist, and Buckbeak twittered softly in greeting.

“Can I, Daddy?” Teddy asked, turning immediately to look at Ron.

“Ask your mother,” Ron said, smirking at Hermione.

Hermione sighed; she and Ron had known Buckbeak since the summer after their first year at Hogwarts, when they had stayed for two weeks at Grimmauld Place, and had continued to do so until the Christmas before their graduation, so the hippogriff knew and trusted the pair of them, as evidenced by the look of contentment in his yellow eyes when he regarded them. “I suppose you can, love, provided that Harry says it’s all right, and he rides him with you,” she said, adding the second part quickly.

“C’n we ride him, Unca Hawwy?” Teddy asked, his eyes shining with childlike innocence, which Harry had lost early on, and hoped to preserve within the small child for as long as possible. For even though he’d just met the boy less than an hour before, he already felt extremely protective of him, and wanted to keep him safe at all costs.

Harry nodded at Teddy, smiling at him. “Of course we can. I think it’s a bit too cold to fly him, though. We’ll have to wait until the spring,” he went on, unknowing if he would ever be able to fly Buckbeak—or a broomstick—ever again. Trying not to sigh aloud at what he had lost, he unlocked the padlock and gently slipped the provided rope around the hippogriff’s neck, and Buckbeak trotted happily out of the stables as Harry gently commanded him via the rope.

Once Harry and Teddy were outside, with Ron and Hermione trailing behind them, Harry was quick to show Teddy how to sooth Buckbeak before attempting to ride him. Harry was pleased at how much Teddy seemed to know about animals, and knew that Ron must’ve taught him a thing or two, which the trio had all learned from Professor Kettleburn—the Care of Magical Creatures instructor at Hogwarts—as well as Ron’s elder brother, Charlie, who lived in Romania, studying and taming dragons. Once the hippogriff was rendered calm, Harry briefly handed Teddy over to Ron, before hoisting himself up upon the back of the beast, and took Teddy back from his would-be adoptive father.

“Easy now,” Harry said, gently settling Teddy in front of him. Harry gently squeezed Buckbeak around the middle, as one would do to the horse, and pulled at the reins, so as he gently clopped around the provided cobblestone path in the garden.

Teddy reached down, continually stroking the beast’s feathers, humming to himself for a few moments as Harry guided Buckbeak around. “Does he have a name, Unca Hawwy?” the child wanted to know, after a few moments, turning around to face his new friend.

“He does,” Harry told him, nodding, proud to instill further knowledge into the small boy. “This is Buckbeak. There has always been a hippogriff in the Black family. Buckbeak is the latest one, and he belongs to my godfather, Sirius Black.”

“I like Buckbeak,” Teddy declared.

Harry chuckled. “That’s good. I believe he likes you as well, Teddy.”

As Ron and Hermione looked on indulgently as their almost-son was spoken to by their dearest friend, and Harry continued chattering to Teddy, not one of them looked up to the gothic manor house behind them. Had they done so, however, they would have seen the face of Ron and Hermione’s master, and Harry’s jailer, the earl himself. The earl was watching Harry as he tipped back his head and laughed at something the child before him said, and found himself becoming lost in those green eyes, which sparkled each time he laughed.

~*~

Sirius had ridden as quickly as he could, all through the night, on the correct path of Epping Forest, and was extremely relieved for the bag of pine needles that Hermione had secreted to him. She explained that, if he were to rub the scent of them upon his person, it would potentially mask it from Greyback’s pack. It had worked, as he had ridden the borrowed horse quickly through the wood, managing to get back to London by mid-morning.

He immediately flew through the gates of his Islington home, and dismounted from the steed, taking him directly into the stables, where fresh food and water were always kept. Once he had secured the beast within the padlocked area, with a bag of oats and a massive bucket of water, Sirius had promptly taken off into the house, shoving open the door and stumbling inside. All this noise caused Kreacher to come barreling out of the kitchen, his ancient eyes taking in that of his master, and his ears visibly flattened upon his wrinkled head when he saw that Sirius stood alone in the small entrance hall of the ancestral House of Black.

“Where is Master Harry?” the aged elf cracked out.

“Harry has been taken prisoner,” Sirius snapped, not wanting to get into it, as he banished his outer clothes into the laundry. “I require a late breakfast, Kreacher,” he continued, and the house-elf grew annoyed when he saw that his questions wouldn’t be answered further, “a full English. I would then like to take a bath, and then you’d be free to see to the rest of your chores.”

“Yes, master,” the house-elf bit out, before cracking away from there.

Sirius rolled his eyes, knowing that the elf would take as long as possible in preparing such a meal for him, so he decided to have his bath first. Traipsing up the stairs and into the master suite, he traveled to the en suite, his joints protesting at all the walking, and pushed open the door to the water closet. He magicked the bath to turn to an appropriate temperature, and flicked on the taps so that the water came pooling and steaming into the tub. Sirius promptly stripped down of his inner layers, promptly banished them to the laundry, and got into the water.

He was able to vanish most of the dirt from his body beforehand, so when he got into the water properly, it did not get overly dirty. Rolling his shoulders and making a grab for a nearby goblet he kept on hand, he filled it with water and wet his hair, intent upon washing it, so the scent of horse did not cling to him for days. He scrubbed both his hair and body vigorously, for the stay in the cell at Snivellus’s home had not been a happy affair, and, although he was worried for Harry, he was secretly glad to be back in his own home.

Once Sirius had finished washing himself, he let out the water and made a grab for a flannel and returned to his bedroom. Fetching an afternoon suit and corresponding leather boots from his wardrobe and putting it on, he went downstairs and into the parlor, where his steaming breakfast awaited him. Nodding to himself, he sat down in the chair, managing to eat the eggs and toast rather quickly, but took his time cutting up his sausages into bite-sized pieces. He had been given hard bread and warm water whilst locked away, so he knew that he should get used to heavier meals little by little.

Finally, when Sirius couldn’t eat another bite, he banished the dishes to the kitchen and knelt before the fireplace. He tossed in some Floo Powder, and yelled, “Flourish and Blotts!” into the flames, which went green as the connection attempted to establish itself. He absolutely had to speak to Remus.

Remus’s head promptly appeared in the flames a moment later, and the man looked visibly shocked to see Sirius on the other side. “Sirius?” he asked, taking in the dark circles beneath the man’s eyes, and quickly found that he was worried for the man he had been in love with since his teenage years. “What’s happened? Where is Harry? I’ve not seen or heard from him in nearly a fortnight...”

“He’s been imprisoned, Remus,” Sirius replied, his tone shaking. “I know it is a Tuesday, but could you come through please?”

Remus nodded. “Yes, of course. Give me a moment,” the man replied, leaving the connection open as his face disappeared for a moment. When his face returned, he was quick to step through the flames and into Grimmauld Place, casting a quick Cleaning Charm upon himself, so as not to track soot into the parlor. He looked at Sirius then, swallowing, as he closed the connection himself without looking. “Sirius...”

Sirius looked terrible, but, then, he felt as if he’d had his arm chopped off, due to Harry so willingly taking his place, and his own lack of sleep. “I...”

“Tell me what happened,” Remus said gently, and guided Sirius over to a couch across the room with his kind and caring eyes never leaving Sirius’s back. “You said that Harry’s been imprisoned. I take it that it is not Azkaban or Fleet Street?”

“Nor has he been locked in the Tower of London,” Sirius confirmed, shaking his head. “Harry’s been imprisoned at Murkwood Manor...”

“In Essex?” Remus asked, and Sirius looked up.

“What?” he asked.

“I know the place,” Remus told him.

Sirius shook his head. “How is it you know of it when I do not?”

Remus sighed. “Before the students and professors come in for their textbooks, or parents come into the shop for Christmas presents, I have a lot of time on my hands for reading,” the man told him quietly. “I’ve read anything from those embarrassingly accurate romance novels that Harry so covets, or maps and history of various locations, both in and out of the Wizarding World. I have quite an extensive collection of historical maps in the shop, and one chapter features ancestral family homes in various parts of England.”

Sirius leaned back against the couch they sat upon; he could remember how knowledgeable Remus was during their years at Hogwarts, and, during their fifth-year, when Lily Evans had finally accepted James’ pledge of courtship, he and Remus had begun spending more time together, as friends, of course. Remus helped Sirius in studying for his OWLs, and Sirius had begun to see just what a remarkable young man Remus was. What many people considered treasonous behavior within the Muggle world was seen as quite normal in the Wizarding World, and although Sirius had clearly felt an attraction—which had quickly manifested itself into love by the time they had all sat for their NEWTs in seventh-year—Sirius never believed that someone as wonderful as Remus would ever consent to—

“So, Harry is imprisoned at Murkwood Manor?” Remus asked.

Sirius shook his head, clearing it of his reverie. “Yes,” he replied.

Remus considered this for a moment. “It belonged to the Prince family,” he said, obviously going backwards within the confines of his mind to establish who the rightful owners of the property were. “Of course, Eileen Prince was the designated heir, at one time, as the senior member of the family, but she died, leaving behind a son...”

“Snivellus,” Sirius growled.

Remus swallowed. “Snape owns the property, then?”

Sirius nodded. “He does.”

“How did Harry find himself as a prisoner there?” Remus wanted to know.

Sirius looked around then, and deliberately lowered his voice. “I became lost whilst riding Buckbeak through Epping Forest; took a wrong turn,” he said by means of explanation. “I heard Greyback’s pack upon me, which startled Buckbeak, and he took off, leaving me, as the wolves went after him,” he continued. “Then, I came to a grove of trees, and, at the opposite end of them, were the iron gates of the manor,” he explained. “I went inside, and was given food and drink, plus somewhere to stay for the night. However, the following morning, I made the mistake of taking a bunch of lilies for Harry...”

Remus swallowed. “You committed theft of someone’s property—a nobleman’s property,” the man said, shaking his head. “Did you learn nothing from the etiquette lessons we were made to suffer through?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Apparently not, for Snivellus came upon me and informed me that I had stolen from his potion supplies, and locked me away in his basement dungeons.”

Remus chewed the inside of his lip. “That still does not explain how Harry came to find himself prisoner at the manor.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Sirius conceded. “Well, Buckbeak must have made his way back here, for Harry utilized him to return to the manor. Ron and Hermione—it’s their place of employment—spoke to him, and tried to get him to leave. However, Harry managed to find out where I’d been locked away, and, after discovery of the cause of my imprisonment, he took the blame himself and refused to listen to reason...”

“Sirius...”

“He took my place, and, even though I tried not to allow him, Snivellus employed a house-elf to take me back to Grimmauld.”

Remus wrinkled his nose. “That does not explain the obvious bath, nor the smell of horse you attempted to rid yourself of, yet still clings to you,” he replied.

Sirius rolled his shoulders. “Well, he told the house-elf to bring me back to Grimmauld, but instead the elf informed me that Snivellus really meant for me to be given a horse, and to get myself back here,” the man grumbled.

Remus raised his eyebrows. “I see.”

“I have to get Harry out of there, Remus,” Sirius said quietly, hating the notion that tremors found themselves into his voice as he spoke.

Remus nodded. “Yes, of course,” he replied. “This is Harry’s home, after all, and you are his family and official guardian.”

Sirius swallowed. “Will you help me, Remus?” he asked, his eyes locking onto his dearest friend’s face. “Will you help me bring Harry home?”

Remus reached out then, taking Sirius’s hand, and did his best to ignore the zing that came along with the physical contact; no, his revelation to Sirius about his feelings for him would have to wait until Harry was safely home. “Yes, of course I will, Sirius,” he replied.

~*~

Harry had spent his first full day in the company of Ron, Hermione, and little Teddy, and was relieved that he was permitted to take his meals with them. He breakfasted and lunched with them during his second day, but was perplexed when Neville came into his rooms after lunch, after Harry was due to change into an evening suit from his afternoon one. He took the note that Neville gave him, and opened it when he realized his school friend was lingering, obviously awaiting a reply.

_You will join me for dinner._

_This is not a request._

_S.S._

Harry gritted his feet, tempted to throw the note upon the fire in his bedroom; it was, of course, connected to the Floo Network, but Neville told him that the network itself was blocked within this particular guest chamber, which made sense, given that he was a prisoner. “I’ll not join him for dinner, Neville,” Harry told him firmly.

Neville swallowed, quickly going pale. “Harry, I know for a fact that His Grace doesn’t request things of his...erm...guests,” the young man replied, obviously not wanting to verbally call Harry a prisoner, despite the fact that this was what he was.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t matter,” he replied. “I will not eat with him.”

Neville sighed. “His Grace informed me that you won’t be permitted to eat otherwise,” he said, and shuffled from foot to foot.

Harry scoffed; although it had been over thirteen years since he had dealt with starvation, and his body wasn’t used to it anymore, he had still been starved in the past. Although Harry was not content to feel the everlasting pangs and pains of hunger within him, eating him from the inside out, once again, he resolved that he would remain steadfast. “I don’t care,” he said. “I will not eat with my own jailer.”

“Do you fancy yourself able to command things in my own house?” asked a silky voice, and Harry felt something jar from within him at the sound of the voice of his captor. “Master Longbottom, please return to your other duties,” the earl went on, slipping into Harry’s bedroom without looking at Neville. “I will see to young Harry.”

Neville immediately bowed reverently to the man. “Yes, Your Grace,” he said quickly, and scurried out of there like a mouse on fire.

Harry straightened himself up then, fixing the black stare with his green one. “And to what do I owe the pleasure from an official visit from my jailer?” he asked, crossing his arms. “Will you be threatening me with beatings next? Because, I assure you, I have dealt with many a negative thing thrown at me,” he told him.

“Spare me the theatrics,” the earl replied, rolling his eyes in a delicate manner, and Harry felt his mouth going dry at the action. “I’m quite sure that Black gave you a good life.”

Harry gritted his teeth; the earl knew nothing, but Harry wasn’t about to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness for his impertinent attitude, or give the man a lecture about what he did and did not know about him. “Quite,” he said shortly.

“I believe my note stated that your presence at dinner was not a request,” the man continued in that silky drawl of his, permitting his eyes to sweep over Harry, “which can only mean that it was a direct order from your gracious host.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Gracious you may be, for I was not given a cell in the dungeons, like my godfather was,” he said. “However, ‘host’ implies that I am a mere guest within the house, and guests have to go home eventually.”

“You are a permanent guest,” the earl declared, “and this is your home now.”

“Yes, Ron had mentioned that,” Harry allowed, crumpling up the note in his hands, and took great delight in watching the man sneer at his childish actions. “He also mentioned that you were a kind and fair master.”

“I like to treat my staff well,” the earl told him.

Harry raised an eyebrows. “And not anyone else, apparently.”

“Were you subjected to etiquette lessons while at Hogwarts?” the man wanted to know, clearly eager to change the subject, for he did not appear to like the notion that Harry was so quick on his feet when it came to banter. “I assume you attended that particular institution, considering that Master Weasley and Miss Granger are your dearest friends.”

“Yes, I attended Hogwarts, and was sorted into Gryffindor like Ron, Hermione, and Neville,” he told the man.

The man’s thin lips warped into a shape clearly resembling that of yet another sneer. “So, were you or were you not subjected to etiquette lessons?”

“I was, as any nobleman is, magic or not,” Harry told him.

“Well, clearly, you did not pay attention during those lessons,” the man said firmly, “as one of the first was to treat your elders with respect.”

Harry shook his head at the man. “Perhaps in your day that was how things were done, because the younger generations of magic and Muggles alike believe that respect is something that is earned, not merely given freely. Clearly, I don’t know you enough to readily give you my respect, Your Grace, because all I do know of you is that you apparently have a past involving my godfather, and it is not a good one, considering that you would so readily wish to imprison him and make his life hell.”

“If you recall, I let him go as soon as you offered yourself up in his place,” the earl informed Harry, growing annoyed. “Now, will you join me for dinner, or not?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine. But may I be permitted to walk in the gardens first?” he asked with a biting tone. “I’ve not seen Buckbeak yet today.”

Severus did his best not to roll his eyes again. “Very well, on the condition that you stay out of the potions garden,” he allowed, and Harry nodded at him. “Very well. Master Longbottom will be along before dinnertime to assist you in selecting a proper evening suit, and to show you to the dining room.”

“Very well,” Harry said back, deliberately looking away from the man as he left, but failed to do so completely, as he got an eyeful of the man’s arse from beneath his black robe, and cursed himself, knowing that that simply would not do.

~*~

“You are blinded by your hatred of the man!” Remus raged at Sirius.

Sirius affixed Remus with a glare; they had been going in circles about Harry’s imprisonment by Severus Snape for over an hour, and Remus had not left Grimmauld since his arrival the day before. “I have good reason to hate him, Remus,” he growled back.

“Why? All because James hated him?” Remus demanded.

Sirius grimaced at the man. “Don’t speak of James—”

“And why not?!” Remus yelled back. “Because you cannot even admit to Harry that the only reason you took custody of him was because you were in love with James, and clearly see Harry as his replacement?!”

Sirius felt his face redden at the very suggestion. He loved James, of course, but merely as a best friend, or a brother in arms against Slytherin House—most notably Severus Snape. He would have never fancied himself in love with James, for James had fallen for Muggleborn Lily Evans almost immediately after their fifth-year had begun. “I was not in love with James.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Could have fooled me, Pads,” he muttered.

“I didn’t love James, for Merlin’s sake!” Sirius screamed. “I’ve loved someone since school, the same bloke since the beginning, and it was never James, never!”

Remus shook there, sensing something passing between the two of them, before he launched himself forward and yanked Sirius into his arms, kissing the man breathless. When he finally pulled away, he saw that Sirius’s startling blue eyes were glazed over. “I... I’m sorry,” Remus said, shaking his head as he let him go. “I shouldn’t have...”

“Stop,” Sirius said, before clutching at Remus’s hand and dragging him back. The man smiled up at his friend, kissing him. “What took you so long?” he whispered.

Remus sighed. “That I don’t know...” He hesitated for a moment. “Harry...”

“Yes, Harry,” Sirius replied, wrapping his arms around Remus’s neck. “Two heads are better than one, Moony. Let’s figure this out together,” he said.

Remus nodded. “Yes, and we shall,” he replied.

~*~

Harry sighed, and permitted Neville to change him into his evening suit. He had seen to Buckbeak for the last two hours in the gardens, with the hippogriff enjoying himself as he permitted his hooves to crunch through the thickening layer of snow. More than once, Harry had looked up towards the manor, and had seen the earl staring down at him. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not, as there were plenty of things that it did to his insides.

“Thanks, Neville,” Harry said, once the young man had finished dressing him. He then permitted Neville to lead the way, and was taken to a large dining room off the kitchen, and nodded his thanks a second time. Stepping in, he took his seat at the foot of the table, as the earl had already arrived, and knew that it would irk the man that he had sat without permission.

“And how did you find the gardens?” the earl asked.

Harry gritted his teeth. “You were watching me,” he replied. “You seem to want to order me about, so perhaps you can explain to me how I was feeling for the few moments of freedom you permitted me to have.”

“I believe we discussed etiquette earlier, when I told you that I would not be merely requesting your presence at dinner,” the earl drawled.

“We may have discussed it,” Harry replied, lifting up the silver goblet, studded with emeralds, before him, and casually sipped at the red wine within it. “However, I don’t recall informing you that I would willingly respect you. I am already following the commands you’ve set for me, so I shouldn’t be expected to do anything more.”

“You may be doing that,” the earl allowed, “but you are not doing so happily.”

Harry finally looked up at the man. “How can one be happy as a prisoner, with a jailer who insists upon spending time with him?”

“I’m not surprised that you lack etiquette,” the earl said as he rolled his eyes again. “With the notion that Black raised you, I think it’s nothing short of a miracle that you can form complete sentences.”

Harry bristled at that. “He didn’t get me until I was five,” he replied. “Before that, I was in the care of my mother’s elder sister and her husband—Muggles. They had a son, but lavished all their attention, love, and positive interactions upon him.”

“Why were you in the care of Black in the first place?”

Harry, who had retained his grip upon his goblet of wine, swirled it around. “I hardly think that is any of your business.”

“They probably would have consented to you being whipped for insubordination,” the earl said, prompting Harry’s eyes to snap onto his.

“I don’t believe my mother and father would have approved of such a thing. Pity they are not around to see me being held prisoner,” he muttered.

“Oh, yes. I’m quite sure they were as impertinent as you are,” the earl growled. “Who are your mother and father, then, boy?” he demanded.

Harry felt himself growing pale then—he absolutely hated that word, for it was what his uncle called him repeatedly, while he was in their care. “James Potter and Lily Evans,” he replied, his voice softer.

Severus looked shell-shocked at the declaration. “You are James Potter’s boy? That would make you Lord Potter,” he whispered.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not much for titles,” he replied. “Yes, I am a nobleman, and I enjoy certain things connected with that lifestyle, but it does not define who I am, although it certainly did make me some friends, and enemies, while at school.”

“Professor Slughorn would have wanted you in the Slug Club, no doubt,” the man muttered, and Harry wondered if the earl hated the potions master for Hogwarts as well.

“Likely because of my mother and her aptitude for the subject,” Harry said softly. “Although I did not improve much until my sixth-year.”

“What was so spectacular about your sixth-year?”

“I stumbled upon an old potions book,” Harry said with a shrug. “It had plenty of notes on how one could improve the potions, and I was able to understand it far better than that of Professor Slughorn’s ramblings or obvious attempts at favoritism.”

The earl inclined his eyes. “So, it appears we agree upon something,” he acknowledged, as the soup course magically appeared in front of them.

Harry stared at the generously-sized bowl beneath him, and inhaled the creamy-looking mixture, which his nostrils identified as potato and leek soup. “I suppose we do,” he allowed, and only picked up his soup spoon after his jailer had done so, and took a tentative taste of the thick soup in front of him.

He was loath to admit it, but it was rather good.


	4. A Pack of Werewolves

Sirius stared down at the roast, boiled potatoes, and roasted vegetables that Madam Rosmerta had placed in front of him at The Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley. Remus, who had temporarily closed up the bookshop, was sitting beside him with the same fare. Rosmerta had once been the proprietor of The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, but had given it over to Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan upon their graduation from Hogwarts last June. Rosmerta smiled at both Sirius and Remus, her curly blonde hair flowing down her back, which swished ever so slightly as she returned behind the bar of the establishment, refilling Butterbeers, Firewhiskeys, and Gillywaters for her other customers.

“We’ll find Harry,” Remus said quietly, reaching beneath the wood grain of the table they sat around and squeezed the man’s leg.

Sirius swallowed. “Will we?” he asked, his tone bitter as he spread the serviette into his lap and took up his knife and fork.

“Don’t despair,” Remus said, mimicking Sirius’s actions and taking up the utensils himself, and casually speared a potato. “We’ll get our boy back.”

Sirius shook his head, reaching out and making a grab for the tankard of gravy, positioned just so upon the table. “I somehow doubt our venture would prove to be that simple.”

Remus blinked. “Meaning?”

Sirius turned and gazed at the man he loved. “Remy, you know as well as I do that Snivellus bore significant hatred towards James,” the man said simply. “This would prove to be a perfect opportunity to get revenge. Suppose he defiles Harry...”

“You know how powerful Harry is,” Remus said quickly, taking Sirius’s hand again. “You mustn’t allow yourself to think in those terms...”

“How can I not?” Sirius demanded, tears threatening to prickle at the backs of his eyes. “That man took my son...”

Remus slowly unwrapped Sirius’s fingers from the gravy, and poured a generous amount on both their meals. “I know very well what your relationship to Harry is, Sirius, and that he is everything to you,” he said quietly. “But you mustn’t permit your mind to think the worst. You must always consider the positive side of things.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “How can I do so, when he is under Snivellus’s thumb?”

Remus sighed, wishing that the man he loved could let the past go. “You do know that James attempted more than once to poison your mind against him, don’t you?”

Sirius turned and regarded Remus then, looking as if he would say something to the contrary, but his eyes seemed to cloud over with something, and he hastily shook his head with a sneer. “One of the many things that gentlemen have been taught from an early age, Remus, is not to speak ill of the dead,” he said gruffly.

Remus straightened in his chair. “You know very well that I’m not a gentleman born and bred, Sirius,” he said flatly. “My father was merely a bookshop owner, as I am, while my mother tended to the household, and all the babies that did not survive until adulthood, save for me,” the sandy-haired man continued, his voice stiff, as it always was when he spoke of his mother’s madness, which manifested itself when it was finally determined that Remus would be the only child, born from Lyall Lupin and Hope Howell’s marriage. “And while cultivating a bookshop is not a wealthy pursuit, it is a respectable one. I am a respected man within the confines of the Wizarding Community, and I would think, given our long-standing association, that you would remember such a thing.”

Sirius lowered his eyes; he knew that Remus would have loved to have had a sibling, while Sirius’s relationship with his deceased younger brother, Regulus—the apple of his parents’ eye, as a Pureblood Supremacist and Slytherin—had been less than nothing, at best. “I am sorry, Remus,” he said softly, tracing at the wood grain upon the table at The Leaky Cauldron. “I know you don’t wish to discuss that aspect of your past. I am sorry that you felt the need to bring it up, all due to my whinging.”

Remus reached out then, clasping a hand onto Sirius’s shoulder; due to his status as a working man, it would be forever chapped by labor, and cut, due to the pieces of parchment from within the books he sold. “Never mind it, Sirius,” he said softly, looking up then as a trio of young men came into the establishment, and stiffened automatically.

“What is it?” Sirius asked, detecting the change in his lover’s demeanor, and followed his gaze, landing squarely upon Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe Jr., and Gregory Goyle Jr., three Slytherins who had tormented Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the rest of Gryffindor House while they’d all been at Hogwarts. Sirius took in the expensive cuts of the military uniforms all boys were wearing, and heard them bragging to anyone who would listen about the knighthoods which had been bestowed upon them, due to their status as wizarding soldiers.

“Of course, my father will be bestowing me the title of Baron Malfoy upon his death, which would never not be seen as untimely,” he said, tipping his ostentatious hat at Madam Rosmerta, as she gave him and his two companions generous tankards of Butterbeer, but gave an eyeroll as soon as she’s skirted around them. He put his arm around Pansy Parkinson, who Sirius and Remus just noticed had come in behind him and his cronies; Crabbe and Goyle each had two other ladies gripping tightly to them—Millicent Bulstrode was attached at the hip to Crabbe, while Goyle was all but fondling Daphne Greengrass in public.

“Slytherin Pureblood marriages,” Remus muttered in disgust, drinking deeply of his Firewhiskey and shaking his head.

“Marriages?” Sirius asked, immediately turning to his companion. “Surely not. Even _The Profit_ would have announced them,” he said.

“Forgive me; they’re merely betrothed, with Crabbe and Goyle’s marriage dates to Miss Bulstrode and Miss Greengrass, respectively, have already set for sometime next year,” Remus replied patiently.

Sirius raised his eyebrows, turning to regard Draco; Draco was the son and only child of his cousin, Narcissa, and he didn’t know the boy well at all, other than reports Harry had given him during his years at Hogwarts. The Bulstrode girl had dark hair and a rather unfortunate horse-like face, while Daphne Greengrass was blonde and fair of face, although her eyes glittered with a haughty demeanor that would set anyone with a brain off. “And here I am surprised that Draco is to be wed to Miss Parkinson,” he murmured.

“Oh?” Remus asked. “You and Narcissa discussed his marriage plans, did you?”

Sirius scoffed. “Surely not,” he replied. “Only that Hermione had heard the whispers that he was to be betrothed to the younger Miss Greengrass,” he said softly.

“Ah, yes. Astoria,” Remus remarked. “A Ravenclaw, if I recall correctly, and seen as a black sheep to the Slytherin family, and a bitter disappointment, despite the fact that her marks were considerably higher than that of the elder Miss Greengrass’s.”

“And _then_ ,” Draco went on from across the establishment, “he had the nerve to decline the flowers I so graciously offered to him.”

Pansy Parkinson twittered in a manner which she considered to be adorable, but Sirius and Remus quickly managed to be disgusted. “Darling, I know we don’t like him, but surely he must have learned something about etiquette while encased behind the walls of Hogwarts, or in that tomb of a house he was raised in,” she said.

Draco scoffed, but nevertheless permitted himself to be petted by his betrothed. “Perhaps, my Pansy, but you should have seen the way his eyes flashed when I dared offer him a token of my friendship.”

“Perhaps he could not forget the past?” Pansy suggested, stroking Draco’s arm, and leaning her raven head upon it a moment later.

“He is not gentleman if he could not forget it,” Draco said snippily, sipping at his Butterbeer with a look of disdain upon his face. “Harry bloody Potter...” He sneered. “And good riddance, too. I’ve not seen him since that day.”

Sirius straightened up in his chair, looking over at Remus. “Did you not say that Harry came by the bookshop while I was away?”

Remus nodded at him. “Yes, I did,” he replied, looking from Sirius, to Draco, and back again. “I think this is another piece of the puzzle to Harry’s steps, in between his leaving the bookshop, and his tea with Albus and Gellert,” he whispered. “Do you think we ought to ask Draco what happened between the two of them?”

Sirius sighed. “If we do, he’ll likely want a price for it,” the man replied.

Remus gritted his teeth. “Perhaps so, but we would also be privy to information that we never would have known before,” he countered.

Sirius slammed his fist into the booth they sat upon, knowing that their options were limited, but nevertheless raised his hand, waiting for the blond to acknowledge him. Sirius knew full well that the entitled attitude from the Malfoy heir had to have come from Lucius himself, for Narcissa was well-bred enough to know not to keep people waiting. All of this was done in Draco’s own time, mind you, but it was done at the end of things, and Sirius and Remus straightened up as the blond approached, signaling for Crabbe, Goyle, their paramours, and Miss Parkinson to remain at the bar behind them.

“Ah, Lord Black, Master Lupin,” Draco sneered, no ounce of respect coming from his tone, which, in turn, dripped with disdain. “To what do I owe the obvious displeasure?”

“Watch yourself,” Sirius growled.

“Easy, Sirius,” Remus said softly, before he turned to Draco. “Sir Draco, we heard you speaking of Harry to your comrades a few moments ago. We were not aware that he ran into you upon his last journey into the alley.”

Draco inclined his head. “I would have thought that _standard_ etiquette lessons informed young people not to listen to their betters’ conversations,” he said softly.

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “From now until you inherit your father’s barony, Sir Draco, _I_ am your better,” he replied, and Draco visibly appeared annoyed by this. “I, too, however, question your motives in seeking to converse with Harry. From what he told me, you were never on the best of terms whilst attending Hogwarts. Would you please enlighten me as to what your conversation was truly about?”

Draco’s rodent-like face clearly took on an emotion of irritation, but also knew that causing a row, in public, no less, with someone considered his better, for the moment, at least, would be ill-advised. “I spoke to Potter, yes,” he said at last, his tapered fingers grazing his tankard lightly as he mulled over what words would be appropriate to speak. “I offered him flowers, and with the insinuation that I was interested in him romantically...”

“And what of Miss Parkinson, Sir Draco?” Remus asked, knowing that he could hardly help himself from asking. “Your betrothal is public knowledge, after all.”

If Draco was annoyed by the direct question of someone he and the rest of the Malfoy clan deemed to be ‘lesser’ than themselves, he didn’t overtly show it. “Pansy knows her place, as a woman, and as a witch,” he said offhandedly, sipping at his drink. “She will accept the circumstances presented to her, as both the betrothal and marriage contracts ink was dried many years before either of us began at Hogwarts. As long as the marriage contract is ultimately fulfilled, before the two of us mutually reach the age of twenty-one, we may do whatever we like, provided that we are discreet about it.”

“Back to Harry,” Sirius said, obviously trying to keep his temper with Draco, as he took Remus’s hand beneath the table in a clandestine manner, “what was his response?”

“He was quite rude, if I’m being honest,” Draco replied, his tone bored as he permitted his Butterbeer to swirl within its tankard. “Someone of his breeding had to have been taught manners, but that’s beside the point.”

“And?” Sirius asked, obviously attempting to keep his temper.

“He refused my suit for courtship, siting his reasons for our mutual dislike of one another, plus my contracts with Pansy,” Draco informed him. “I offered him flowers—quite lovely ones, too—which he adamantly refused to take.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re asking of me. Our conversation was trivial, at best, and quite brief. He left via the Floo in here,” he said, gesturing towards the fireplace beyond, “and I’ve not seen him since.”

Sirius’s dark brows knit together at that. “Ancient Wizarding Law prohibits more than one courtship to go on at once,” he said softly. “Although it is frowned upon in Muggle circles, to be sure, I’m not well-versed in their laws.”

Draco sneered, “I merely wished to reap the rewards of a courtship, Lord Black,” he said, and rolled those silvery eyes of his. “Wizarding Courtship doesn’t prohibit both parties being close, provided that it is consensual.”

Sirius gripped at the edges of the table. “So, you’re saying you wished to defile my godson?!” he demanded, spitting with rage.

Draco threw his head back and laughed. “I would say something derogatory, but Potter didn’t permit many to touch him, in the aftermath of his courtship with young Lord Diggory, heir to Marquis Diggory, in a manner considered sensual or sexual,” he said with mirth, “until young Miss Weasley managed to ensnare him. But believe you me, although he attempted to gather public opinion that he was most pleased with the union, hoped-for on all sides, mind you, the depths of his eyes appeared to be filled with something haunting, something that only a phallus could cure. I merely thought that offering up my services would benefit Potter in some way, to the point where he could get his head out of the clouds and move on from Lord Diggory and the Weasley girl completely.”

Sirius launched to his feet at that, and would have clobbered Draco into next week, were it not for Remus’s strong arms encasing themselves around him. This, however, did not stop Sirius from screaming at the Malfoy heir, as the latter stumbled backward, back towards his comrades, as Remus ushered him out of The Leaky Cauldron. “It’s because of you that he will not have a happy memory of Diagon Alley to take with him, now that the Earl of Murkwood has imprisoned him in Epping Forest!” he shouted, the words tearing from his throat, which caused Draco’s eyes to widen, as Remus dragged him out into the alley, and towards the Point of Apparition, so as the pair could return to Grimmauld Place.

~*~

Harry had had a lovely morning and afternoon in the company of Ron, Hermione, and little Teddy, who was slowly but surely coming to terms with the English language. Hermione was teaching him the basics of reading and writing, simple spells, magical theory, and the differences between the Wizarding World and the Muggle one. Ron was instructing Teddy on the ins and outs of Quidditch, Care of Magical Creatures, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. As for Harry, he was helping Mrs. Weasley with teaching Teddy about cooking and household spells, as well as transfiguration and charms. He heard from Ron and Hermione that His Grace had graciously been willing to tutor Teddy in the basics of potions before he began at Hogwarts, as he believed their former professor, Horace Slughorn, to be incompetent.

“He’s not so bad, once you get to know him properly,” Neville said quietly to Harry, as he assisted in dressing up the latter for dinner that evening with the earl. “He’s given me control of all the greenhouses on the acres here, once Professor Sprout contacted him about my OWLs and NEWTs marks. He’s impressed with me,” he went on, and Harry smiled, remembering how passionate his school friend had been about plants. “I’m even going to instruct Teddy on herbology, once he gets old enough.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it, as will Ron and Hermione,” Harry assured him. As Neville went off to fetch his dinner jacket and shoes, Harry pulled slightly at the crimson silk tie he wore. “You really think the earl’s not so bad, Nev?”

Neville sighed, never wanting to speak ill of authority figures, although he had never liked Professor Umbridge during their time at Hogwarts; then again, nobody had. Although now Neville had something to lose—his position—and, given that the walls likely had ears, he knew that he couldn’t be speaking too frankly. “Everyone has the potential to be a bit rough around the edges, when it comes to people whom you’ve not made an acquaintance with,” he hedged carefully, stepping closer to Harry and offering up the jacket.

Harry shrugged into it. “I just don’t know, Neville...”

“You’ve not been here very long—merely four days,” Neville reminded him, smiling brightly as their eyes met in the mirror, and he smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles that Harry’s jacket supposedly had. “Perhaps if you were to give it more time, it would work out.”

Harry swallowed. “I will try,” he answered.

Neville walked Harry part of the way down the corridor, before he scuttled off to complete his other tasks before bedtime. Harry sighed, knowing that compromise was likely due here, as he set off down the staircase that would lead him directly to the double doors of the dining room. It was a quick trip, and, once he had arrived, the double doors opened for him, and he slowly stepped inside, and took the seat at the foot of the table, once he noticed that the earl was already sitting at the head, presumably waiting for him.

“Good evening,” said the earl softly.

Harry looked up at him and nodded. “Good evening, Your Grace,” he replied. He lowered his gaze back onto the table; the white tablecloth was in place, not a blemish in sight, and the cream-colored china with silver gilt wrapped around it was in its proper place, with the soup bowl placed upon the entrée plate, waiting to be filled by magic. The many polished silver forks, spoons, and knives dotted either side of the plate and bowl, and there was a tumbler for Gillywater, and a larger glass, which normally boasted red wine at dinnertime.

“Quiet this evening, aren’t we?” the earl asked conversationally, pulling his napkin out from beneath his silverware, without disturbing the individual pieces—other than a rhythmic clang here and there—and spread the fabric upon his lap.

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek, and painstakingly removed his own napkin from beneath his set of silverware, without so much show, and placed it upon his own lap. “No more than usual, sir,” he replied.

The earl arched an eyebrow as he regarded his younger companion. “Well, then. Perhaps we could speak about our days?”

Harry felt his Adam’s apple bobbing from within his throat, but nevertheless permitted himself to answer the question. “Of course, if you like,” he said softly.

“Lovely,” came the reply. “And what did you do, then?”

“I spent time with Ron, Hermione, and little Teddy,” he replied. “It was a bit nicer today—the sun was out, you know—so, despite the snow upon the ground, we walked outside a bit. Teddy is quite fond of Buckbeak, you see, so I had him up upon his back again. I still won’t let him ride on his own yet, but he enjoys the ride all the same.”

“An engaging child, young Theodore is,” the earl responded with a nod. “I remember when Mrs. Weasley brought him to me—squalling little thing that he was—and informed me that someone had left the poor mite upon the doorstep of the servant’s kitchens. Naturally, after deducing that I could amend certain potions recipes to accommodate the little thing, we built up his strength and, miraculously, his magical core.”

Harry blinked. “You saved him, then?” he whispered.

The earl scoffed. “You make it sound as if it was nothing short of a miracle, or that it was not in my nature to do so,” he replied with a huff.

Harry swallowed, noticing that wine had appeared in their respective goblets, and he tentatively lifted his glass. “Forgive me if this sounds presumptuous, sir, but I don’t know you well enough to know what is or isn’t in your nature, much,” he said, and sipped at the wine.

The earl acknowledged that statement with a nod, and took a drink from his own goblet. “Yes, I do suppose you’re correct in that statement.”

“Hmmm,” Harry said softly, amid another sip of the wine—it was quite good. “Buckbeak loves to put his hooves into various snowdrifts,” he said after a moment, as a curl of steam rose from within the center of his place setting and, upon looking down, saw that it was a delectable-smelling vegetable soup that evening. Lowering his glass of wine and picking up the correct spoon, he gently dipped it into the bowl and took a bite. The vegetables had become soft and tasted entirely of the broth, and he detected leeks, carrots, celery, turnips, and potatoes, all laced with a generous hint of garlic.

There was a tell-tale clang of something from the other side of the table then, and Harry looked up at the earl, who was staring, wide-eyed, at Harry. “Where exactly does that hippogriff of yours like to traipse upon my grounds?” he demanded.

Harry swallowed his bite of soup and slowly lowered the spoon to rest upon the edge of the bowl as he stared at his captor. “Why should that matter?” he queried. “All the gardens look the same, now that snow covers everything...”

“You should know very well by now that it does _not_ , in fact, cover everything, which is what got your guardian locked up, and you involved in this mess in the first place,” the earl snapped. “So, now, I will ask you again. Where does that _blasted_ hippogriff of yours like to traipse?!” he spat, the flecks of spittle hitting the table.

Harry sighed, recalling when he had answered a question of Ron’s earlier that day, where he had taken his eyes off Buckbeak’s progress of walking Teddy, all for a moment. This had caused the hippogriff to go a bit stir-crazy, and Harry and Ron had dived for his reins and for Teddy respectively, to prevent anything bad from happening. However, Buckbeak had trampled into the potions garden, and upset a heap of thyme leaves, which he had trampled unceremoniously, and Hermione was devastated that she could revive the plant with a spell. When they’d summoned Neville, however, he confirmed that, due to the complexities of the Weather Charms that the earl had put upon the potions garden, that any plant-based remedies would be impossible to fix what the hippogriff had trodden upon.

“Buckbeak got into the potions garden,” Harry said softly.

The earl stared thunderously at Harry. “Did he?” he asked, his tone rather conversational, although Harry could tell that it was laced with unbridled rage. “And did he or did he not manage to destroy anything?”

Harry swallowed, all his appetite gone as his hands fell into his lap, and his fingers proceeded to knot themselves together. “Thyme,” he whispered.

“What?” the earl spat.

“Buckbeak trampled upon your thyme, sir,” he replied.

The earl launched to his feet then and crossed the room towards Harry, and yanked him up and out of the chair he sat upon. He stared down into his eyes for a moment before he shook him and threw him off, causing Harry to stumble backwards. “Get out,” he said.

Harry blinked. “Sir?” he whispered.

“Get out of here!” he suddenly raged, the anger now center stage as he turned his black gaze onto the younger man. “I want you to take that blasted hippogriff of yours and get out of my home! I never want to see your face again!” he yelled.

Harry scrambled to obey, not even caring about how cold it possibly was, nor for the impracticality of his dinner attire. He dashed out of the dining room, the unfinished soup forgotten, as he had freedom in his sights, and was determined to take it. He threw open the door which led directly to the stables at the end of the corridor, and ran like a madman out into the snow, ignoring the fact that it was likely to turn into a storm. He rushed into the stables and grabbed ahold of Buckbeak’s reins, before promptly bowing to the beast, petting him, and hopping onto his back rather quickly.

“Ride, Beaky!” he shouted, and squeezed his flanks with his boots, not even bothering to remember that such a creature could fly.

The pair of them tore out of the stables and through the gardens as the snow became thicker around them, and the front gates opened as Buckbeak’s hooves clattered upon the cobblestones of the yard before them. As the creature’s hooves hit the dirt of the forest floor, Harry dug into his pocket and brought out his wand, whispering “ _Lumos_ ”, as they fled from their prison. As they trotted, trying to get away as fast as possible, neither of them heard the tell-tale signs of heavy breathing, the stamps of canine feet, or the way that the wind rolled off their fur, as they slowly reared up their heads to let out a series of almighty howls.

~*~

Sirius and Remus arrived at Grimmauld Place with a crack, and Sirius promptly shoved Remus away from him as he tore inside the ancestral Black family home. He ignored Kreacher and made his way directly into the parlor, pouring himself a generous helping of scotch, while Remus shot the house-elf an apologetic look. Remus followed Sirius into the parlor and took in his lover, who had thrown his head back and was chugging the drink.

“Don’t do that,” he said gently.

Sirius flashed Remus a bitter look. “And why should I not? My son has been taken, and I’ve been insulted in public by the ferret face of the Malfoy heir,” he grumbled.

Remus crossed the room and gently removed the shot glass from Sirius’s hands, and gently moved his hands up and down his lover’s arms. “Harry wouldn’t want you to get yourself into such a state,” he reminded him.

Sirius temporarily dragged his hands down his face before all but collapsing onto Remus’s shoulder, tremors of bitter laughter flowing through him. “I just don’t know what to do,” he admitted, his tone riddled with despair.

There was a tentative knock upon the front door then, causing Sirius to look up, and Remus to turn around, as they saw Kreacher walking automatically towards it from the kitchen, where he had likely fled upon Sirius and Remus’s arrival. He straightened himself up as best he could before grabbing ahold of the brass door knob and turned it, peering out into the dark December night and narrowing his eyes.

“You’ve upset Master Sirius,” he said by way of greeting.

Sirius and Remus stared at one another for a moment, before breaking apart and making their way towards the door themselves, with the latter catching hold of it before the house-elf could slam it upon the intruder’s face. Sirius looked up at said intruder, and found his blue eyes widening as he took in Draco Malfoy standing upon his porch.

Crossing his arms before he could help himself, he stated, “If you’re here to rub the notion that Harry is not here in our faces, then we are not interested, Malfoy.”

“Sirius,” Remus said warningly.

Draco sighed and shook his head, and, for his part, appeared genuine. “As soon as you left The Leaky Cauldron, I told Crabbe and Goyle to rally up some men, good men, after a Floo Call to my father,” he informed Sirius, who raised his eyebrows. “My father will provide funds to the best men for the job, and we’ll find where Potter is being kept.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I was under the impression that you and Harry hated one another,” he said, not about to readily believe the young man in front of him.

“We do,” Draco said, readily willing to admit to such a thing. “But Potter is of good, noble stock, and Father won’t stand for harsh treatment of him, from anyone. He doesn’t need the situation explained to him at length, all he needed to know was that a nobleman was in danger, and he readily agreed to part with the funds necessary to ensure that the best men are brought forth to storm the forest to bring him back.”

Remus peered into the darkness past Draco, and along the cobblestones, towards the black iron gate at the edge of the property and shook his head. The smart pillars, carved from pearl-white marble, boasted impressive torches above them, but they were flickering, at best, due to the flurries of snow around them. “Best send them in the morning,” he advised Draco, “pending the weather, of course.”

Draco nodded. “Capital idea,” he agreed. “Lord Black, might I use your Floo? I nearly splinched myself during Apparition, due to the weather, and I’ve got to get back to the manor before it gets too late.”

“Not at all,” Sirius replied, knowing full well that one good turn deserved another, and stepped back, just far enough for Draco to get inside and walk over to the parlor. He knew that telling the Malfoy heir that he was welcome to stay for dinner would also be generous, but he was not feeling overly so, especially given that he’d already given the lad permission to utilize the Black family Floo. “You will inform your father of these developments?”

Draco nodded a second time, taking a handful of Floo powder and making his way towards the flames within the fireplace. “Will do. Good evening, gentlemen,” he said, bowing briefly to them both, before tossing the powder into the flames, and calling for “Malfoy Manor”, and was promptly swallowed up.

~*~

Harry spurred Buckbeak forward as much as he could, without a saddle or stirrups to guide him, as they ventured further and further into the forest. He could now hear the sounds of the werewolves around him, and gulped within his throat, leaning forward just enough to wrap his arms around the hippogriff’s neck, hoping beyond hope to get out of there quickly. The snow around them decided to grow thicker by the minute and, as they turned a bend in the trees, they came upon a vast clearing, one that he did not remember seeing before.

Just as they stepped into it, Buckbeak’s hooves stumbled in the very deep snowdrift, and he let out a despondent noise as Harry did his best to right him. At that moment, they were quickly surrounded by Greyback’s pack, and Harry swore under his breath as he attempted to urge Buckbeak forward, to find a weak spot within the ranks. Spooking as the werewolves ventured closer to them, Buckbeak suddenly reared himself, his wings coming out to play, and swooped upwards, leaving Harry—who had not been expecting such a movement—to topple from his back and into the deep snowdrift.

Harry launched himself to his feet, fumbling for his wand for a moment in the snow, and aimed it at all the werewolves who dared to step too close to him. “ _Confringo_!” he shouted, pointing it at a rather heavy-looking tree branch, which immediately blasted apart, causing three of the beasts to scatter at once, into the darker parts of the forest. Looking further, he saw that four of the wolves were standing upon the edges of an ice pond, and yelled, “ _Expulso_!” right at the surface of it, causing the ice to break, and the creatures to run for their lives, whimpering at the sensation that their fur had gotten significantly wet. “ _Reducto_!” he screamed at last, towards a pair of wolves who were right behind him, causing a bit of a tree trunk to blast forth and take the pair of them out, to the point where he was facing Greyback head-on.

Greyback transformed into his human form then, and stared at Harry with those dark, soulless eyes of his that he had seen more than once within _The Daily Profit_ or _The Quibbler_. “Ah, if it isn’t young Lord Potter, whom my master successfully made an orphan,” he gloated, and Harry gripped at his wand, rage flowing through him at the werewolf’s words. “How touching it will be for me to bring you to my master, once and for all,” he declared, bending down to spring, and it was then that there was an almost inhuman yell, and a sea of black robes temporarily obliterated Harry’s vision of the creature.

Harry’s jaw dropped then as the earl made himself known, toppling the werewolf to the ground with a well-placed _Petrificus Totalus_. He saw then, however, the moment before he could deliver the curse, that the werewolf bestowed deep gashes upon his arm. Harry watched then as the earl stumbled to his feet, Greyback’s body limp with the curse, and turned to look at Harry for a moment, his black eyes riddled with pain, before he crumpled into the snow around them, his arm bleeding considerably.

Harry bit his lip and whistled, hoping that Buckbeak would hear, and was immensely relieved when the hippogriff flew downwards and, after assessing the situation, promptly landed before his master and responded to Harry’s bow. Harry smoothed his feathers before giving the earl a glance, and sighed, his Gryffindor instincts getting the better of him. Cautiously stepping closer to the black robe clad man, he whispered, “ _Levicorpus_ ,” and gently eased the earl onto Buckbeak’s back, before he turned around, and gently lead the hippogriff back around the bend and through the forest, hoping beyond hope that the werewolves would remain silent until they managed to return to the manor.

~*~

Harry had just managed to get the earl into bed in the master suite, with the help of Ron, Neville, and the earl’s own personal valet, Richard, Baron of Hollowick, who was a kindly man who seemed very loyal to his master. The baron profusely thanked Harry for bringing him back, and let him know that if there was anything he needed, anything at all, all he need do was ask. Ron was quick to bring in his mother and Mrs. McGonagall, the senior members of the staff, who deduced that a magically-induced coma was the correct way to go, until someone could figure out how to cure the earl.

Harry was despondent, and fell into a fitful sleep that evening, when it was confirmed that he could be of no help. The next morning, he bathed himself and thanked Neville when he dressed him, and was quite surprised to receive a visit from Hermione so early in the morning. “Is there any change?” he asked quickly.

Hermione sighed and shook her head, moving Teddy to her other hip. She pressed a kiss to her would-be son’s forehead, and he gave Harry a smile, as he nestled into the space between her head and shoulder. “But I did have an idea,” she said at last. “Come with me.”

Harry blinked, but nevertheless followed his friend, pulling his morning jacket around him as they ventured down the corridor and towards a sweeping staircase he had never seen before. He made no moves to question Hermione further as they ventured up it, and Hermione whispered the Unlocking Spell as they came to a pair of white doors with golden gilt around them at the end of the corridor. Harry stayed back until Hermione stepped forward, and they mutually whispered an effective _Lumos_ as they stepped inside, and light immediately filled the space, which caused Harry to gasp in shock, for he had never seen so many books in his entire life.

“The potions section is over there,” Hermione said softly, jostling Teddy slightly in her arms to keep him amused, and is rewarded with a small giggle, and Harry follows her indicating finger across the library, towards a rather grand-looking section. “I would look myself, but I’ve got chores and this one to help Molly with,” she continues, and Harry nods, knowing by now that Hermione and Molly share childcare duties in the mornings when it comes to Teddy, with Ron and Hermione sharing them in the afternoons.

“I can handle it,” Harry replied. “You’re telling me, then, that no charms or spells can be utilized here?” he wanted to know, turning to look at Hermione. “Perhaps a variation, or an opposite, rather, on the Lycacomia Curse,” he suggested.

Hermione sighed and shook her head. “That’s Dark magic, and you know very well that nobody will touch that willingly, Harry,” she said, holding Teddy close.

“And not Wolfsbane, then?” he inquired.

Hermione shook her head again. “Because Greyback wasn’t in his werewolf form, His Grace won’t respond to such a thing appropriately,” she said with a sigh. “We thought perhaps a new potion would help. And you know how Sluggy adored you...”

Harry worried his lower lip, but nodded, nevertheless. “I owe him something, now that he’s saved my life,” he said softly. “All right, Hermione. I’ll try.”

Hermione beamed at him, stepping forward and pressing a kiss onto his cheek. “Godspeed, my Harry,” she said, before dashing from the library with Teddy, to complete her chores, no doubt, as Harry turned towards the cases and sighed.

“Right, then,” he said, and proceeded to roll up his sleeves. “Let’s see what we can do about all this, shall we?”


End file.
